The Bold Obsession
by xXmidnightmuseXx
Summary: When a tour at sea ends abruptly, Arthur finds himself thrown back into the aristocratic life he had been running from his whole life. But when social gatherings turn into a string of serial murders, Arthur finds himself racing against time to catch the killer before the final hour is up. Set in 19th C England, this story is rated M for death, gore, and future romances. Human names
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One:**

"_Upon one summer's morning, I carelessly did stray, down by the Walls of Wapping, where I met a sailor gay conversing with a young lass who seem'd to be in pain, saying; 'William, when you go, I fear you will ne'er return again."_

Looking up over his glasses, Matthew stole a glance to the singing man beside him. However, the docks shoved and shouted all around the young sailor, jostling him about and keeping him from getting a good look. It evolved into a cluster of noise that Mathew could frankly care less for; what with all the shouting and cursing men and the screaming gulls above him. It was driving him mad!

Not to mention there would surely be a deadly collection of bruises and bumps decorating his body at the end of this adventure.

A particularly ill-placed elbow had the youth squawking in surprise as he found himself lurching towards the edge of the rotting docks. A pair of hands latched onto the back of his shirt, yanking him back from a cold swim in the sea. He looked up timidly from his position on the ground searching for his savior.

"You alright there, Lad?" Green eyes were what caught Mathew's attention first. His hero smiled and pulled him up to his feet with a light laugh. "First time back from tour?"

"Y-yes, sir," Mathew managed to stutter out. The other continued to smile at him, a knowing look behind his eyes. "First time back home in almost four years."

"Ah, I remember those feelings," extending a hand to Mathew, the man smiled. "Where are you headed? It'd be against my nature to let such a green sailor wander around these docks unaware and alone. You'd end up dead!" Mathew cringed at the harsh, barking laugh from the man.

He was short, about a foot or two shorter than Mathew on his best of days. Under the naval hat untamable straw-blonde hair peeked out and dusted over a pale face that held the most dangerous pair of venom-green eyes Mathew had ever seen. The sailor's lithe frame was swallowed by his heavy wool coat, and a pair of navy-ordered boots and slacks peeked out to cover his legs. There was a bag swung over his shoulder, and a plain black and silver cane supporting him on his left side.

Realizing the other was still waiting for a response, Mathew made a strangled noise of an apology. "Ju-just outside of the city, sir. I'm supposed to be staying with my brother until I'm called out to sea again." He shuffled a bit, taking the other's hand to give it an uneasy shake. "Mathew Williams, sir."

That brought the dying smile back to the other. "Arthur, a pleasure. Come on then," readjusting the bag on his shoulder, Arthur turned to walk down the docks. The crowds seemed to glide away from him as if he were a ship's bow in the waves, carving a path for Mathew to follow. "I'll see you get to a decent part of the city to hitch a ride. First tours are always the hardest I think; you end up torn between homesickness for the mother-land and the calling of the Cruel Mistress." A thumb jutted over his shoulder, making Mathew pause and glance back, frowning when all he could see were ships clogging up the harbor and the air littered with sails, ropes, and gulls.

"_His hair it does in ringlets hang, his eyes as black soles. May happiness attend him wherever he goes,_" Arthur picked right back up on his song when the two had resolved into silence. He was off key and a tad too loud, but Mathew couldn't complain. He was subjected to his brother's voice since the day he was born, and it was a rare day on earth when his brother could hold a decent tune. It also didn't help that he tended to be the loudest creature on earth that Mathew knew to exist.

"_From Tower Hill to Blackwall, I will wander, weep and moan. All for my jolly sailor bold, until he does return_."

The two soon found themselves free from the arms of the pier and seated in the bosom of the nearest pub Arthur was able to locate. To celebrate a tour completed, the shorter man had told Mathew as they went to find a seat. Now Mathew sat alone, nervously watching as Arthur stood toe-to-toe in a shouting match with a sailor Mathew recognized as one of his crew-mates. The argument had seemed to bloom out of nowhere; Mathew blinked and suddenly it was a screaming match between the short sailor and the pub-rat. He cringed when Arthur's well-placed fist knocked the other off his stool; and yet, Mathew couldn't even bring himself to feel an inch of pity towards the bleeding fool on the floor. The man _had_ played a rather wicked trick on him during their first month out at sea.

"Arse," Arthur spat out as he gave a kick to the other. The lithe man snagged up the two pints presented to him and stalked back over to Mathew where he quickly shoved one into his hands. "Drink up. I doubt they had anything good on that ship of yours."

Mathew shook his head in response, looking down at the frothy beverage in his possession. When he looked back up, he nearly jumped out of his skin to find the other watching him calculatingly from over the rim of his own pint. Those green eyes flashed and a shiver ran up the younger one's spine at the feline appearance.

"Holy shit!"

Arthur let out a low groan at the shout that was turning heads throughout the pub. The lithe man's hat suddenly hung down, his head falling onto the table and a hand moving to comb fingers through his mop of hair.

"Arthur? ….Arthur! It _is_ you, you fucking bastard!"

Mathew frowned as he watched a woman sashay over to them. She leaned on the slumping sailor with a wide grin on her face, and wrapped her arms around the muttering man.

"So the mighty Kirkland's come to port again, aye? What did it take this time to get your arse back to land? Was it that sword to your leg?" Arthur turned to glare at his assaulter, missing the choke on Mathew's part. He was met with the face of his least favorite bar-maid and struggled to get out of her hold. In response, she flashed him a million-watt smile, sky blue eyes crinkling up around the edges beneath the wisps of her blonde bangs; all the while tightening her hold on the man's shoulders. "Yes sir, we heard all about your adventures out on the seas. The brave and daring commander Kirkland armed with steal and gun! Heard ya took a pirate down with his own sword, we did! Stabbed him _right_ between the eyes!"

"Amelia!" Barking in annoyance, Arthur managed to shove the other off him finally. He gave the woman a sharp glare, all the while brushing off invisible creases in her coat. "Really now, lass. Show some decorum."

Amelia rolled her sky-blue eyes while fixing certain parts of her womanly figure back into configuration with her corset. "Arttie, love. I work at a tavern by the docks. I don't know the meaning of decorn'em."

Arthur felt his face contort in preparation of another yell when the crashing of a chair had him suddenly looking back in Mathew's direction. Mathew had somehow made it to his feet and was staring at Arthur in exasperation with a gaping mouth and hands pointed out at him with sprawled fingers. Slowly, Arthur raised an eyebrow. "…yes, lad?"

"Yo…you're… you're…" Fighting with his words, Mathew continued to stare with saucer-sized eyes. He registered Amelia giggling; a slight titter behind her fingers. "A Kirkland! You're a Kirkland! That…That means you…"

"Aw, Arttie, I think you broke the wee lamb." Continuing to giggle, Amelia stretched out across the table to pat the startled youth's cheek. "That's right, Lovey. Grand ol' Sire Kirkland has come down from his mighty Commander seat to join us land-loving bitches and bastards." She gave out a loud laugh when she turned back to find Arthur glaring darkly at her.

Slowly, Mathew reached down and set his chair upright again before taking his seat. "C-Commander Kirkland. As in _the_ Commander Arthur Kirkland of the Kirkland family… as in her Majesty's right _hand_, Kirkland family. Oh my God…. I'm sharing a drink with a noble…"

The naval man clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes away. "Really now, it's not _that_ grand." His eyes narrowed slightly as he stared off into nothingness. "Do remember to breathe, Williams. You've sailed for a fair deal of time, officers are no more important than the men working under them; why should nobility be any different?"

"Won't stop your whining till yer _Captain_ Kirkland, will yah?" Amelia took the liberty of pinching Arthur's cheek, quickly being rewarded with a string of colorful curses before she swished her hips away to other patrons.

"Bloody harpy," Arthur snarled out, watching her go with only his eyes. Slowly, he turned back to see Mathew continue to gape at him and Arthur sighed, rubbing his temples. "Lad, close it or the slime here'll mistake you for a spit pot." He gave a dry chuckle as the other closed his mouth abruptly; looking around nervously as if the others here would really do such a thing. "…you're too polished to be from the normal stock of sailors, what with the way you're blushing like a school girl at their language. Indulge an old sailor, what's your pedigree, my boy?"

Mathew looked down at his warped reflection of his flattening beer. Biting his lip, Mathew suddenly despised the imaginary eyes locking onto him from around the room. He remembered his mother saying something once about not hanging his dirty laundry out for the public to see, and the young sailor tried very hard to abide by that. His brother had always been the one to receive the brunt of attention; he was the loud, charismatic one, the heir to their father's business and wealth. Mathew had always taken pleasure in taking advantage of the situation and hide in the background. He had grown accustomed to the blind eyes looking over him; hell, even the crew had occasionally forgot about him on their ship, resulting in an incident of him almost being left behind at one of the colonial stops.

"Alright then, if you're going to stay lock-jawed on me… What about your brother? I don't believe I caught his name the first time."

Blinking, Mathew dragged his eyes back up to Arthur's burning gaze. "That's…because I never said it sir." He flinched at the smirk spreading across Arthur's face, raising several red flags in his mind. It reminded him of the first time he saw the sharks at sea, their fins breaching the water and swarming around the one stow-away that had jumped moments before. With a shudder across his shoulders, Mathew gave a small sigh. "Bu-but it's Alfred, Sir."

Arthur gave a curt nod and stood to smooth out his jacket. He glanced back down to Mathew with a slightly scrunched up face, as if he was annoyed the other was still in his seat. "Well, come on then. Can't keep your brother waiting all day for you to get home, now can you?" And with that, he turned and limped from the bar with Mathew scrambling to keep up with the alarmingly fast man.

They parted ways once they hit the streets, Arthur having struck true to his words and hailed a cabbie down for the slightly shell-shocked Mathew. Now seated in the horse-drawn carriage, the youth let out a soft sigh of relief and allowed himself the leisure of closing his eyes and breathing deeply. Inside, he leaned into the salty-smelling cushions and phased out the commotion on the other side of his carriage door. Outside, the world began to blend together and the port-city turned into the comforting scene of the country, what with its scare but grand-scale estate houses and grand yards. He only stirred when the carriage entered the rough, loose-stone path of his brother's drive and brought him closer to the manor house framed in saplings, slender yet tall in their youth.

There was a thin frown on his face as he opened his eyes to see the house grow closer. They were New-Money; too good for the common folk in town and yet too filthy to be associated with the true blue-bloods of Mother England's society. It made his head spin on its axis just trying to think about it, and he often wondered how his brother managed to survive it all.

But then Mathew laughed. It _was_ Alfred he was talking about after all; that boy could survive anything the world tried to throw at him and walk away laughing. As the carriage jerked to a halt, Mathew spotted his brother running down the steps of the large, empty house, taking the stairs three at a time with a smile as bright and warm as a fair day in May. He looked so out of place in that black and white suit that came mandated with the social classes with his crazed blonde hair and lightly tanned skin.

Four long years, countless storms at seas, battles with pirates and hostile natives, and yet here, in this once again unwelcoming land, Mathew managed to find an anchor waiting for him like always. Opening the door, he stepped out with a calm smile.

"Mattie!" Arms threw themselves around his shoulders and Mathew braced his legs as the body landed against him. He chuckled and returned the hug, his duffle dropping to the ground. Oh, it was good to be home again.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter of the story! I always figured a F!America would be as loud and boisterous as her male counterpart, no? Tell me what you think, and I'll try my hardest to update chapters regularly! Until then, duckies._

_Disclaimer: I hold no ownership claim over Hetalia or the original "My Jolly Sailor Bold" song._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two:**

It was like walking straight back into a nightmare.

Arthur barely registered his bag being thrown at his feet while the carriage driver quickly made to leave. He was too transfixed, staring up at the ancient estate house that held his gaze with its empty black windows framed in creeping ivy. All around him screamed of disarray; the front bushes looked as if their last trim had been back in the good Queen Victoria's first years on the throne, while all around him the grass grew in uneven patches, wild and dark. To him it appeared more as a forest than the entry of a mansion.

Sighing heavily, he reached for his bag and threw it over his shoulder before he pushed himself up the stairs. Before him, the grand Kirkland estate seemed to loom in on itself, as if trying to wrap its arms around the sailor. The house had once been regarded highly among the nobility, the gentlewomen folk pining over the estate's gardens when spring came to bloom. That was of course before Lord Kirkland had passed on and left his sons in charge. From that point onwards, the estate had slipped further and further into the ghastly sight it was today; the family following shortly behind.

Arthur paused at the large oak doors beaten from the elements. With a sparing glance over his shoulder, he watched the carriage escape the dreary land as the iron gate slammed shut behind it.

"Bollocks," he spat. With the head of his cane, he knocked on the door and leaned back with a scowl. "…I wonder if it's too late to hop a ship to Peru." Muttering absentmindedly, Arthur winced when he made the mistake of shifting his weight; the pressure tugging at the tender portion of his leg.

A few moments passed before the doors slowly open. It was then that the darkness seemed to escape the manor house and sweep out with arms trying to grab at the man and drag him inside. He took a hesitant step backwards, wide eyes sweeping the portion of the foyer presented to him.

The black and white checkered marble floor looked in desperate want of a scrub; the only truly clean areas on it being several paths that spanned from the door, and even they were scuffed and dim. A large portion of the large staircase spilled into the view of the door, and from his position Arthur could see the dust clinging fast to the slender ruby rug that ran its way down the marble steps.

"Master Kirkland." The formal address startled the sailor and he looked back to the doorway. A faint smile spread across his face at the sight of a butler bowing low at his waist. When the retainer stood, he stared Arthur down with a raised eyebrow. "To be perfectly blunt, sir, we weren't expecting you."

Chuckling, Arthur limped inside. "You and I both, Manon, believe me." Now inside the grand entry, the Commander glanced upwards and scanned over the chandelier dangling while Manon closed the door behind him. With a scowl, he dropped his bag to the floor and narrowed his eyes at the cob-web riddled crystalline structure. "Honestly, what _has_ my brother been doing to this place? Manon!" Turning to the butler, Arthur sent him a bitter-sweet smile. "Care to call up the staff? If I have to stay in this insufferable place then by God man, make it somewhat acceptable."

Manon bowed low once again, muttering his acknowledgement before turning to take his leave. Arthur heaved a sigh and continued to look around his surroundings, trying to re-associate his mind with his childhood home. "To think, it used to be so beauti-"

"ARTHUR!"

Snapping his gaze to the stair case, Arthur began to grin at the sight of the boy racing down the steps. He took them three at a time, and Arthur considered them both lucky the foolish lad didn't trip and tumble down the marble stairs. With a clatter, Arthur dropped his cane and managed to kneel, arms out to accept the child that soon slammed into him at full force.

"Good God, lad." Arthur chuckled, desperately trying to catch the breath that had been knocked out of him. "I was only gone for a few years. Who said you could grow so much?" Pulling back a bit, he smiled fondly and ruffled the boy's sandy-blonde hair. "Still fighting the good fight, Peter?"

Peter nodded in response, a toothy grin cracking his face in two. "Mmhm! Third nanny this month!" Suddenly, his face fell and Peter puffed out a cheek in annoyance. "This one though! He just won't leave, Arthur! I've tried everything! But now that you're home, you'll teach me everything, right? Right?! I don't even _need_ a nanny anymore! I'm almost eight, practically a grown-up! And you'd make such a better tutor!"

Footsteps rushing down the stairs caught Arthur's attention, causing him to look back up. He found a young man, possibly no older than himself, rushing towards them. His violet eyes were locked onto Peter, and there was an exasperated air about him. "Peter! You can't keep running off like that!" The man seemed invincible to Peter's pouty glare and when he reached the bottom of the steps he turned to Arthur with an apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry. We were in the middle of Lessons when he heard the knocking and he just took off running." The man extended a hand out to Arthur, his smile evolving into a brighter, lighter tone. "Tino Väinämöinen. You must be Arthur; Peter talks about you all the time."

"I do not," Peter softly whined. And yet, Peter's refusal only made Tino chuckle all the more.

With a firm hand on his cane, Arthur pushed himself back to his feet and quickly shook Tino's hand. "Aie, that's me." Arthur came to rest his hand on Peter's head while the youth clung to his older brother's pants leg. "How on earth were you roped into this circus-act of ours?"

Tino merely shrugged in response. "When Peter's last nurse ran out, Eduard recommended me to Lord Kirkland. The two of us grew up together in a way, and he insisted I at least give it a try."

Arthur nodded at the mention of the family's accountant; however, his eyebrow quirked upwards at the formal title in Tino's statement. "_Lord_? Is that what my brother's going by now?" With a fluid roll of venomous eyes, the Commander's hand left Peter's head to fetch the abandoned satchel on the tiles. "And yet this place is a right disaster! What _has_ Allistor been doing these few years?"

"Mostly sitting in Father's old study," Peter piped up. He bounced on his feet, desperately trying to take Arthur's hand and drag him towards the stairs. "He never comes out anymore, not even for Christmas! He just…sits up there all alone. I think he's broken…" Blue eyes creased with worry at the corners, and the youth looked up at his brother with a frown. "You'll fix him though, right Arthur? You're good at that."

Smiling gently, Arthur gave a brief nod. "Of course. I'll knock some sense into that git. How _dare_ he miss Christmas." He chuckled as Peter grinned once more, allowing the boy to take his hand and tug him up the stairs. When they reached the top, he handed his bag to Peter. "Now be a good lad and bring that to my room, will you?"

Grinning ear to ear, Peter hugged the bag close to him and shot off down the hall.

"He's really quite sweet." Tino soon fell into pace besides Arthur, his violet eyes flicking over to the other as he smiled warmly. "It's a pity. I'm convinced he only acts out to get his siblings to notice him. He's quite the lamb when he wants to be. I think he gets a thrill out of riling up Lord Kirkland, what with the way he boasts about how he practically ran his last nurse out. He was so upset when I stuck through the first week." Tino laughed at the memory, Arthur slowing in response to look at the man beside him. "That sweet dear, he just needs somebody to pay him a little attention. Ah, but listen to me ramble! Terrible habit, I'm afraid! …Although, now that you're back, I suppose he's going to be wanting you all to himself!"

Arthur turned away from Tino with an absentminded nod, looking down the hall way while his companion laughed. "He'll be disappointed when I go back to sea," he muttered, barely catching the wide-eyed look Tino responded with.

"Now you wait just one second! You can barely walk straight with your leg! Surely you'll be staying for more than the night!" Arthur's eyes shot wide open and he turned to other in shock. His cheeks streaked pink while his tongue fought to find the proper biting remark, but the other rolled his eyes away with a short laugh. "Oh knock it off, your face is going to freeze that way if you keep scowling… though, it must have been quite the scuffle to get you sent home so early, Commander. Maybe you'll grace me with the story some day. Ah, but here we are."

Tino stopped them outside of a dark oak door that broke apart the dusty, floral-print wall. Arthur slowly narrowed his eyes as he stared at the offending portal.

"I assume you'll want to talk to Lord Kirkland first," Tino said as he turned to walk away. "I'll see to it that Peter doesn't ransack your belongings too badly. Would hate for the dear to ruin a surprise."

And with that said he walked away, leaving Arthur to face the door down alone. The Englishman grimaced, straightening his spine as he reached for the brass and crystal knob. However, the door swung open before he could even brush his fingertips against the cold glass.

"-kick your teeth in if I catch you even _thinking_ about it again! If Arthur knew what you were plot…. Ar-Arthur?"

Arthur blinked, leaning back slightly to stare up into the wide emerald-green eyes before him. Behind the other, a chair crashed to the floor and a harsh curse cut through the air. And yet, Arthur only responded with a sly smile spreading across his lips as he shifted his weight to his cane. "Hello, Dylan. Oh do close your mouth, lad. You'll swallow a fly! Now, what's all this about, oh brother of mine?"

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

_Well, here's the second installment to this gothic themed Hetalia adventure. Since some of the human names aren't really canonized, I'll introduce all of the names at the end of a chapter whenever new ones are introduced:_

_Manon Morgans: M!Belgium_

_Allistor Kirkland: Scotland_

_Dylan Kirkland: Whales_

_Disclaimer: I have no claim over any Hetalia characters, but the story plot is all mine~_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three:**

There was a heavy silence as Dylan stood dumbly before his brother. The brunette's mouth continued to hang open as if he were fighting to say something intelligent but instead being choked by it. Behind him there was a slight shuffling of the chair being righted, followed shortly by a sigh.

"Get the hell outta the way already and let him in, Dylan."

Closing his mouth with a snap, Dylan frowned and stepped to the side. Arthur followed him with his eyes before turning to look around the study.

It was almost the same as it always had been; as if some strange time-bubble had managed to preserve the room from the years of Arthur's childhood. Dark stained bookcases lined the walls, their shelves bending slightly under the heavy weight of the tomes and leather-bound books they supported. Books and loose leaves of paper were scattered in haphazard piles at the shelves' feet. Seated in the center of the room, positioned just before the windows, was his father's old desk; an ancient thing that had wound its way down through countless generations of Kirkland's.

This time however, instead of being the host of official documents and atlases, it was covered in crumpled papers and ink splatters that marred the polished wood. An over-turned ink well was abandoned dangerously close to the edge. At the center of it all was the red-headed heir of the Kirkland name, resting his chin against his palm while he idly itched at the stubble littering his cheeks. An empty scotch glass by his elbow commented on the dark shadows hanging beneath his eyes.

Frowning, Arthur stepped towards him. "You look like someone dragged you through hell and back."

Allistor Kirkland narrowed his eyes; a dim glow of raw-cut emeralds that mocked their former passion and glory. "You're one to talk." Scoffing, he leaned back into the weathered leather chair, the material creaking under him in protest. "What the hell are you doing back?"

"Aww, did I disrupt somebody's plans?" Arthur smirked as the scowl etched further and further into his brother's face. Dylan shifted his weight awkwardly behind him, eyes nervously flicking between his brothers.

"Shut your mouth, you ungrateful little bastard." The chair spun out behind him as Allistor sprung to his feet. "While you were off playing the little loyal British sailor, yer family has been here, struggling to make sure at least _one_ of us gets out alive!" Allistor paused, eyeing Arthur down as a fire boiled up inside him. "You weren't here, _little brother_, so don't you fucking dare come in on your high horse or I'll shoot you down myself."

Limping up to the desk, Arthur glanced down at the papers with a scowl. Numbers and hastily written notes were scribbled over them, and when he brushed aside a pile, despite Allistor's warning snarl, his eyes slowly widened. He quickly shifted to a scowl and turned back to his brother. "A deed of _sale_? Allistor, don't you dare tell me thi-"

"I have no choice!" the room practically shook with the man's shout. Dylan cringed by the door, shoulders rising up to his ears as he looked away.

Arthur squared off his shoulders, looking Allistor dead in the eye. "Don't you dare give me that line, Allistor. What the devil has come over you to even _consider_ selling this place! You! The one always preaching about the glory of our name and home, who would fight tooth and nail to see it honored and treasured! I understand it's a little dirty, but really now, a few servants could have it acceptable in the week!" He paused at the suddenly flash of guilt streaking across Allistor's eyes, and his heart fell into his stomach. "…what aren't you telling me, Allistor."

They continued to stare at each other for a fair deal of time. Then, it was as if someone had released all the air and anger out of Allistor, and he sank back into his chair with a heavy sigh like some collapsing giant. Arthur cringed, suddenly watching as years piled onto his brother's shoulders, and those fiery eyes grew cold again.

"I had to let them all go." Reaching for the bottle at the corner of his desk, Allistor eyed it down lazily before he poured out the last inch of amber scotch. "We couldn't provide for them, so I had to let them go. Only a few stayed, the ones loyal to Father before his death; Manon, the cook Mrs. Hill, Eduard, and now this new man, Tino."

"Couldn't…provide for them?" A cold dread spread out through Arthur's veins. Thoughts quickly began to race through his mind, only further fueling his anxiety. Quickly glancing over his shoulder, Arthur stared wide-eyed at Dylan for an explanation. Instead, he found the brunette unable to look him in the eyes. "Allistor…what happened?"

There was a weak shrug in his shoulders before Allistor shot back his glass. He paused there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling with a scowl before his sighed. "You can search for years, but I'm afraid you'll never come up with the answer. I've been doing everything I could; I let the servants go, Peter's no longer going to the boarding school, I'm even renting out the house at the southern part of the estate. Hell, I've tried to rent portions of the green to farmers for Christ's sake! But still we're bleeding out somewhere and drifting dangerously close to the red." Looking back to Arthur, Allistor gave a bitter smile. "One of our uncles on the main land has offered to take Peter under his wing, provide him with a proper education and upbringing. He can give Peter what we're failing at. On the condition that," he pulled out the deed of sale and laid it on top of the papers to tap at its header. "I accept an offer that came through on the estate. He kindly reminded me that raising a 'hell-born wild child' of his brother's brood wasn't exactly cheap."

Arthur practically ripped the unsigned deed from his brother, hastily scanning it over once again. His eyes paused on the buyer's flourished signature, and he looked back to Allistor, horror-stricken. "…you would sell our home…to _him_?" Slowly, Allistor nodded in response, looking almost as green as his eyes. Arthur scowled, slamming the paper back down. "Well as the next of kin and rightful heir to this estate, I refuse! You will not sell this place, damn you!"

"…told you he wouldn't go for it," Dylan muttered softly by the door. He flinched when both brothers turned a sharp glare on him, and said no more.

Practically dragging his eyes away from Dylan, Allistor turned his glare to Arthur. "Rightful _heir_? Since when have you given any care about this family and your so called _inheritance_? You ran from it, little brother! You left all of this in my care, and damn it this is my final decision!"

He held his ground as Arthur leaned in close, their noses practically touching.

"And I won't let you go and throw all of this away." Arthur slapped the deed with the back of his hand. "Give me two nights, Allistor. I'll go talk to Eduard, see if I can't figure out what's going on here. He has to have records, money doesn't just disappear." Slowly straightening up, Arthur continued to hold Allistor's eyes with his own. "I'll find where your money is hemorrhaging from, and we'll just put a plaster on this and be good as new. You said we have tenants, so it's not like we are at a total lack of income." With a flourish of his hand, Arthur snatched up the deed, and with a crooked smirk he ripped it clean down the middle. Venom-green eyes flashed dangerously as Allistor jumped to his feet with a shout. "Two nights."

Allistor stared at the scraps his brother had reduced the bill to. After a moment, he growled in annoyance and stepped away, moving to situate himself before the curtained window with his back to his brothers. He brushed aside the heavy curtains with his knuckles and stared out at the grounds, saying; "Two nights. Then _you_ get to crawl back to that bastard and have another contract drawn up."

Smiling brightly, Arthur crumbled up the shreds and tossed them towards the waste bin. "There won't be a need for that. I'll shoot the frog instead if it comes down to that." And with that said, he turned on his heel and limped away from Allistor with a smug grin plastered on his cheeks. He had seen the absent, dying fire spring back to life behind his brother's eyes, and for that he was glad. This down-trodden, desperate Lord business did not suit the hot-blooded man in the least.

That night, dinner turned out to be a silent affair. Half of the Kirkland clan was away visiting a grandmother further out in the country, and Allistor remained locked away in his study, leaving Arthur to the mercy of Peter and his cheerful nurse. And while the company had been pleasant, the moment the blonde caught sight of the family's accountant walking away from the kitchens, he was itching to get up and confront the Estonian man. In the end it took several bribes and reassurances to Peter that Arthur would come up and tell him a story or two before Tino had him tucked away for bed.

"You promise?" Peter gave Arthur a pouty stare from across the table. The youth dragged a smile out of his brother at the expense of his desperate expression.

"I promise. Any story you want. And there'll be a surprise for you too if you're good before I get there."

That rose the child's spirits and he turned to Tino beside him, reaching out to tug on his sleeve. "Can we go get ready for bed now? Can we? Please? Arthur always tells the best stories! You can stay for it too I suppose. If you want." Arthur couldn't help laugh at the shocked face Tino had plastered on before he could compose himself with a nod. And so with the situation handled, he was able to sneak off after the Estonian.

Arthur spotted the accountant at the top of the stairs by the time he managed to limp into the hallway. He sighed, following after the man, always a few feet behind him. Arthur frowned as he watched the Estonian; Eduard was constantly glancing over his shoulders, covering his candle light as if to keep himself hidden in shadows. With narrow eyes, Arthur trailed the man to his appointed study, and when the slender man slipped into the room with a quick glance about his shoulders, he narrowly missed Arthur hiding behind a dust-covered armor display.

With a scowl, Arthur crept up to Eduard's door. He had just reached the entry way when he paused, catching wisps of the other's voice and the sounds of clinking ink wells and folding paper.

"_Going to lose my fool head over this. Damn that man, damn him! How much longer does this have to go on?_" Soft shuffling matched the shadow moving across the room, and Arthur stood frozen at the tell-tale sound of a window screeching open. "_God in heaven let him sell soon. I'm going to have a stroke if this keeps up any longer_."

Suddenly the door jerked open, and Eduard swept from the room. He looked about, bottom lip brutalized between his teeth before he pulled the door shut with a snap and continued down the hall towards the bed rooms.

Arthur sank to the floor, letting out a heavy breath of relief with a hand pressed against his heart. He leaned forward slightly, peeking out around the suit's leg to watch Eduard disappear down a corner in the hall. Scowling, he pushed himself to his feet, wincing with a muttered curse at the pain shooting up from his thigh. He limped over to the door, testing the handle with tentative fingers as if it were on fire; yet, he found it gave way to his touch with little effort and swung open freely.

He slipped in quickly, resting his cane against the wall while he braced the door with one hand and turned the knob with his other to silently close it. Eyes drifted over the accountant's office, settling on a desk much similar in fashion to Allistor's. However, this desk was covered in far neater, pressed sheets of paper that were covered in bi-lingual notes and numbers.

Limping over, an eye creasing close at every creak and whine the floor gave beneath him, Arthur approached the desk. His fingers brushed through the paperwork, uncovering several notes written in Estonian and sheets on household staff pay, but no ledger. Scowling, he took to the drawers.

The Kirkland financial book was tucked away in the third shelf down, hidden beneath a mound of loose-leaf papers and a book in Estonian. Pulling it free from its tomb of ink and parchment, Arthur sat down on the floor and cracked it open in his lap.

"…well this can't be right…"

Licking his finger, Arthur slowly flipped from page to page. Each one was always the same; the famed Kirkland wealth filtered in at the beginning of the paper, and somehow by the bottom of the page had negated itself. Arthur traced the lines, fighting to keep his temper down as he came across the discovery of subtle changes in zeros and decimals. It was a process spanning over months, and it was easy to over-look if one only saw the book once a month for the grand financial report.

Snapping it shut, Arthur glared darkly at the cover. He stood with a slight struggle, his hand braced against his good leg. Then, tucking the book beneath his arm, the Englishman left the study with a scowl pulling at the corners of his mouth.

He only prayed the _Lord_ of the house was in a better mood than their previous encounter, or Eduard would be sentenced before he could even hope to hide behind a judge.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

_Sorry! So sorry for taking so long in updating! College kicked my butt unexpectedly, but I'll try to update again soon!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia but I kinda really want a Spain kitty to take naps with..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four:**

"I'll wring the little bastard's neck myself and save the judge the damn rope!"

Arthur winced as his brother slammed the ledger down on his desk. It lay open, exposing its secrets to the elder Kirkland brothers. With a sudden jerk of his arm, Allistor swept the book from his desk and sent it flying across the room. It landed heavily after crashing into a chair, its spine up in the air.

"Where is he." Burning emerald eyes snapped back to Arthur. The blonde felt his spine involuntarily straighten under the scorching glare of his brother. "Where is that little _rat_?!" He turned away, a hand shoved into his bangs, and began to pace behind his desk. "And I'll place a good bet that the Finnish man is in on this too! Why else would Eduard recommend him? What decent, sane man wants to be a child's nursemaid!? Arthur!" Allistor gestured wildly at the other with his back turned to him. "Go beat the two of them in here now! If I go and get them I'll be bringing back corpses instead of men!"

"Oh get a hold of yourself, man." Sighing softly, Arthur moved to collect the discarded ledger. With a scowl, he brushed off invisible dust from its covers. "If you go and accuse anyone now, what's to keep them from running off in the night?" Glancing back to Allistor, his glare cut the other off. "And I don't mean threatening to cut throats. How unoriginal, dear brother."

He limped back to the desk and placed the book down amongst the chaos. "Send Dylan to town tonight and have him ride back with authorities by the morning. But keep quiet about it or you'll give everything away." Arthur chuckled dryly at the thought, ignorant to his brother's stare. "As for Tino, really now. You're suspicious of _him_? If anything he's the most innocent being in the house, and Peter's quite fond of him. The boy, despite it all, does have a decent sense of character."

Allistor clenched his jaw, growling lightly as his teeth ground together. "….Fine. Go get Dylan then. I want him back with a constable before the sun rises."

With a roll of his eyes, Arthur bowed low at the waist. "Your wish is my command, _master_." He had to bite back the laugh trying to escape when he stood to see Allistor's seething glare locked on him. "Alright, alright, I'm leaving."

He soon found himself before Dylan's door in the parallel hall. Not even bothering with a knock, he instead elected to push it wide open and boldly stepped inside. He walked over to the bed and eyed the mound of blankets that shifted slightly in the center. "You lazy boy, it's far too early to be sleeping." Then with a wicked smirk, he gave the mound a good whacking with his cane. "Time to get up."

Dylan shot up with a shout, a hand held to the side of his head as he looked around in a panic. "What the hell was tha…. ARTHUR! What the HELL is wrong with you?!"

With a feline smile, Arthur leaned back on his cane. "His _lordship_ wishes to see you in his study. He said it was a matter _most_ urgent. Come now, would hate to keep him waiting."

"…he can wait in the lake for all I care," Dylan grumbled. He swung his legs from the mound of blankets, muttering to himself all the way out of the room and down the hall. Arthur hung behind, laughing merrily to himself in the hall.

However, his merriment was short spent, and Arthur turned at a tug on his pants. He found Peter staring up at him with those bright blue eyes; a hopeful smile scrawling across his face. Arthur couldn't help but smile in return to the contagious grin.

"I don't suppose Tino knows you're walking about?" Arthur chuckled as his little brother shook his head. "Come along then. Best go let the poor man know you haven't been spirited away in the night. I'll tell you a story if you promise to go straight to sleep afterwards."

Peter wrapped his hand around his brother's, following after him back to his bedroom. When they entered, Peter shied at the look Tino shot him and tried to hide behind Arthur; suddenly far less daring when faced against the Finn.

"Where on earth have you been?" The Finnish man rushed towards them. He knelt, reaching out to Peter only to end up frowning as the boy continued to hide behind his brother. Worried violet eyes glanced up, softening when he saw Arthur smiling.

"Sorry about that. Boy sure can remember when someone promises something." With a light laugh, Arthur glanced back to find Peter staring up at him. "Hop into bed, I'll be right there." He urged the younger out with his hand pressed between Peter's shoulder blades. The youth scurried past the two adults to the large four-poster tucked away in a corner of the dimly lit room, and soon he hid himself beneath the heavy duvet and sheets.

Tino shook his head at the scene, watching Peter run with half-lidded eyes. "That boy's going to give me a heart attack one day," he muttered absently. Yet Arthur caught the smile on the Finn's face as he spoke. Looking back to Arthur, Tino's frame seemed to sag in relief and his exhaustion began to creep out onto his face. "I'll leave you to it then, sir. If you need me, I'm in the room right next door." And with a light nod he left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Arthur waited a moment before limping over to the bed. As he sat down on it, a hand braced against his leg while he tried to hide his grimace, he caught Peter's muffled voice. "…you won't get rid of him, will you?" Blinking, Arthur turned to see his younger brother peeking up at him from beneath his covers; the youth's eyebrows pulled downwards in what Arthur could only imagine a pout. "I don't _really_ want him to go… A-and I'll be better behaved, I promise… It's not his fault, honest!"

"…what makes you think Mr. Väinämöinen is going away?" He leaned towards Peter, brushing a few fly-away bangs from the boy's face. Peter gave a small huff of indifference towards the affection and pulled the covers down to show off his pout as he slumped against the pillows.

"I heard Allistor complaining about foreigners before bed time..." Frowning, Peter gently bit his lip and looked downwards. "I went to go say goodnight…but he was storming around Father's study all angry and complaining about trust and stuff." He suddenly looked up at Arthur with the biggest blue eyes the sailor had ever seen and whined, reaching out to him. "B-But Tino's not like that! He's really nice, and he always knows what to say, and when to kiss boo-boos, and how to make tea, and I'll be better behaved, honest! Don't let Allistor make him leave!"

"…" Taken back, Arthur could only stare at the whining child before him. Soon however, his shock melted away and he nodded. "Alright, I promise."

"_Promise _promise?"

To which the man smiled and nodded, reaching up to drag his finger across his heart in an exaggerated X. "I _promise_ promise." He watched Peter grin at that and settle back into the sheets, content to have some measure of stability. "Now, if I remember right, I owe you a story and I _know_ you won't give me peace until you have it."

Leaving his cane resting against the bed, Arthur managed to maneuver his way up to the headboard. He settled in beside Peter, the boy slumping against him as he curled up to Arthur's hip. Once situated with an arm resting across the board, Arthur glanced down at the wide-eyed boy and began;

"Once upon a time, there was a sorceress who had three sons. The boys loved each other dearly, but their mother did not trust them and thought they only wanted to steal her power. In turn, she changed the oldest brother into an eagle; he had to make his home in the mountains and sometimes could be seen gliding up and down in the sky. The second brother she changed into a whale, and he was forced to live deep in the ocean and could only be seen when he sent mighty jets of water high into the air. Both of the brothers turned human for two hours every day.

"Scared that his mother might change him into an animal too, the youngest brother ran away. He had heard rumors about the Castle of the Golden Sun where an enchanted princess was being held captive. But to rescue her, a person would have to risk his own life. Twenty-three men had already died trying to rescue her, and only one more would be allowed to try. But since the youngest brother had a brave heart, he decided to search for the castle and save the princess….."

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

_Sorry! So sorry! College got away from me and I lost all track of time! Sorry!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or the Grimm brother's story "The Crystal Ball"_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five:**

A crash in the front hall awoke the brothers. Arthur shot up first from his place amongst the cushions, a move he quickly regretted as his leg throbbed in protest. Peter then stirred, at first dreary-eyed and confused by sleep, then startled wide awake by another crash below.

"A-Arthur," he asked, glancing hesitantly towards the door. Arthur held a finger to his lips, smiling softly at his brother before he attempted to stand.

"Stay here, Peter. I'll come back to get you when I find out what's going on." He carefully crept from the room with ears constantly tuned in on the commotion down the stairs. As he closed the door, he heard the one beside him squeak open. Turning, Arthur saw Tino peeking out from his room.

The violet-eyed Finn frowned as he looked up to Arthur. "Sounds like quite the commotion," he said, attempting a smile. Stepping further out into the hall, Tino wrapped his arms tight around his torso to hold his dressing-gown closed. "Do you think they even know what _time_ it is? Far too early for any of this nonsense, if you ask me. Shall we?"

Arthur barked out a laugh and nodded, extending his arm with a light gesturing nod. "After you, sir."

"Such the charmer," was his reply, coupled with a fluid roll of those lavender eyes.

The pair walked down the hall and stopped just out of sight from the banister and grand staircase. Tino's shoulders jerked at the sound of porcelain meeting its maker against the marble. Clear as day, they could now hear the shouts coming from the foyer; "Let me go! I'm telling you, I'm innocent you fools! What have I ever done to make you think I would ever steal from you, my lord?!"

Arthur glanced to his fellow man having caught movement from the corner of his eye. He found Tino walking from their hiding spot to stand at the top of the stairs and look down. From behind, the Englishman could see Tino's shoulders squared-off and grow tense underneath the heavy, dark robe. Not wanting to let the young man face alone the possible storm below that was Allistor Kirkland, Arthur moved to stand beside him.

Across the black-and-white checkered floor, chunks of broken busts and irreplaceable vases seemed to accumulate around the center of chaos. Dylan could be seen attempting to hide in a doorway off to the side, his head down and shoulders scrunched up towards his ears. Returning his mad dash last night, it seemed that two constables had accompanied him. The livelier of the two stood closest to the door with a blinding smile on his face despite the Estonian banker restrained in his arms. His counterpart, a stoic looking fellow, stood a bit off to the side talking to Allistor. Arthur smirked despite himself when he noticed the constable had placed himself carefully between his brother and Eduard. But the man's placement did not stop him from an occasional glance back at the banker, where sea-green eyes seemed to turn to glass and his frown deepened even more. It was during one of those brief glances that Allistor snarled and attempt to pounce on the Estonian; however, the constable caught himself and Allistor in time with an arm around the lord's chest.

"You want _proof_?!" The red-headed man bellowed while detangling himself from his confiner. He threw the ledger down before the Estonian. The book fell to its spine before Eduard, cracking open to reveal its intimate pages of incriminating ink. "There is your proof! Tell me who your master is! Who?"

Eduard froze in the constable's arms, glancing down at the book while his complexion paled considerably. Quivering eyes flicked upwards to glance around the room in desperate search for allies amongst the lions and wolves. Soon, his gaze fell upon the stairs, and a wave of relief seemed to crash over him as his shoulders slumped. "Tino," escaped him in a desperate croak.

Air was pulled from the room as everyone turned to look up the stairs. Step by step, the Finn descended to the foyer with a stiff spine and furrowed brows. The eccentric constable grinned wider if possible, adjusting his hold on Eduard. "Hey Tino! Waldo, look! It's Tino!" Yet his companion stayed silent, instead opting to watch the shorter man come to a stop a few feet from the stairs.

"What's going on?" Boldly, Tino turned to look over at Allistor and frowned. "Sir, what's this all about?"

Eduard called out to him from his bonds, drawing those violet eyes back to him. "This mad man is accusing me, _me_ of stealing! Tino! You know I wouldn't do anything like that! We grew up together, you know me!" Nervous eyes followed the Finnish man as Tino knelt to pick up the ledger and flip through it. "Tino, don't! It's fake!"

But the damage had been done Tino sighed as he slowly closed the book. He turned away from Eduard, earning a panicked cry from the other as he walked over to Allistor and the constable. Looking up at the stoic one, the Finn held the book out to him. "…you'll want this, Berwald."

With a small nod, the man took the book and slipped it under his arm. With another acknowledging head tilt towards Allistor, Berwald stepped outside with a quiet muttering of "'Thais…". His grinning companion managed a wave as he led Eduard after the other.

"See ya later, Tino!"

As the door closed, silence dominated the large entrance hall. Arthur limped down the stairs, coming to stand beside Tino, all while staring at the door over his shoulder. "That was an eventful start to the day," he muttered with an eyebrow raised.

"…you knew them?" Looking back, Arthur saw his brother staring curiously at Tino. In response, the Finn nodded. All the while he refused to make eye contact with either Englishmen.

"Don't worry, sir. They'll do their job well if that is what you're worried about." He then bowed low to Allistor before turning to hurry off. "If you'll excuse me…"

Watching him go, Allistor let out an annoyed sigh. "Strange lad… I think you were right, hard as that is to say," dark green eyes slid over to look at Arthur with a slight sneer in the corner of his mouth. "I don't think he had anything to do with this."

"And your first clue was what exactly, brother-dear?" Arthur chuckled dryly. At the dark look coming over his brother's face, Arthur laughed louder. "Learn to joke, Allistor, my Lord! You'll die an old man before you're 30." Turning away, he made to limp back up the stairs. He paused at the first step, however, and looked back to Allistor alone on the marble tiles. The elder's shoulders were drooping lightly, and his eyes were timidly staring at the main door. With a roll of his eyes, Arthur turned away and began his ascend; "Perhaps you should start doing your finances yourself now?"

"Oh fuck off," Allistor spat, causing Arthur to laugh again.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_Heyyy... I updated in the week, yaay! Anyways, enjoy~ I'll try to keep up this weekly updating!_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six:**

Outside, the wind howled around the warm pub resting on the skirt-ends of the city. Rain pelted against the creaking shutters, all while the wind dragged its boney fingers along the tiled roof. The Gnarled Noble, a warm place filled with the scent of good food for the aging, decrepit nobility that filtered into the small port city from their surrounding country-side estates. The tavern and its attached inn had come into the ownership of two foreign lads, having inherited it after the passing of their grandfather some years back.

But now, the tavern gave shelter to a fair-haired noble and his companion. Occasionally, he would chuckle as his friend received battering remarks of loud Italian in response to his playful banter to the eldest of the owners. On any other night, he would have partaken in the light teasing; his words always directed towards the more cheerful of the twins. Yet tonight found Francis looking at the tavern through a daze; half in reality, half in his mind.

The chime above the doorway caught his companion's attention, and Francis glanced back while Antonio jumped to his feet. Francis smiled warmly at the men rushing into the warm tavern. "Gilbert, mon ami… We were starting to wonder if you got lost!"

Shrugging out of his coat, Gilbert tossed it onto a passing table as he made his way to the two. Behind him, a slightly shorter youth gave a sigh and went to hang it by the door. "It's practically a damn river falling from the sky!" the albino gripped as he came to stand between Antonio and Francis. "How on _earth_ you can tolerate this nation for holiday, I'll never know! You too, Antonio, when your home has far more sun and far less rain!"

Antonio smiled as he retook his seat. "Just another stop along the way, I'm afraid." Chuckling softly, he gave a small shrug and tilt his head. "Espanga will call me home soon enough; at least, I hope she does before Mother sends her hounds to come and find me!"

"Well, when the Carriedo heir just up and _leaves_ the family crown and responsibilities behind for the life of a wanderer," Francis smiled over his wine glass. "And in such a dramatic fashion to, I've heard… What was the rumor again? Seven white horses came and carried you away from your _oppressors_?"

"I heard you had your brother let lose thirty doves in your parents' castle while you climbed out your tower window!" Gilbert recalled, barking in laughter. He gave a slight glance as his brother sat down beside him before turning back to the Spaniard.

With a tentative chuckle, Antonio reached back to rub his neck while wearing a sheepish smile. "Honestly now. All I did was walk out the front door. No grandeur acts of rebellion, no sword fights against Father above a rapid river during a tempest while Brother held Mother back by the arms." Green eyes flicked up at his now quiet companions. He laughed again at the looks his friends now wore, especially that of Ludwig. "Haven't heard that one yet? It's all the rage up in London, I'm afraid."

The trio shared another laugh as they turned back to their respective drinks. Minutes bled into hours as the men reacquainted themselves with one another. Yet, the jingling of the tavern door bell caught the group's attention, and the four men glanced over to the doorway. Antonio smiled lazily as he watched two men rush in with coats held over the heads in feeble attempts to hide from the tempering English storm.

"Look, amigos… It's the Kirklands' new tenants." Resting his chin down on his arms, the Spaniard followed them along with his eyes like a cat. "Strange to see that family take in foreigners, let alone tenants. I wonder if the good Lord Kirkland decided to change his wicked ways to help the wayward travelers of lonely Inglaterra." Taking a sip from his mug, he glanced up as Francis spoke.

"I heard that they have been having quite the…_financial_ difficulty for the past few years or so." Francis raised an eyebrow as he looked down at Antonio, smiling at the wide-eyed man looking back.

Gilbert snorted lightly as he tipped back with a pint glass to his lips. "The Kirklands? Having financial troubles? That's like saying Prussia will fall! Which," snickering, the albino raised his glass to his friends. "Will never happen of course."

"But it's true, bruder." The trio's gaze fell to the blonde at Gilbert's side. The youth glanced up at them, before shifting his blue gaze back to the new comers. "Herr Morgens was talking about it this morning before we left for town. His brother was telling him how Lord Kirkland discovered that the family banker had been stealing and altering the ledger, and had the man arrested just yesterday morning."

Gilbert stared with a hanging jaw at his younger brother. "No shit…?" He turned to look over at Francis, laughing airily over his mug. "Francis, Abel's your butler, why didn't you say anything about it?"

All the blonde Frenchman did was shrug his shoulders lightly in response. "It must have slipped my mind about Abel's brother..." Taking a slow sip from his glass, Francis watched the blonde brothers be led away to the rooms upstairs. "Well this shall prove to be interesting, wont it, mon amis?"

* * *

_** Gilbert's comment about Prussia: In this story, being set in the later years of the 19th Century, Prussia is still a country. Prussia is not formally terminated until February 25th, 1947 by the Allied Control Council._

_Author's Note: ...I AM SOOOOO SOOOORRY! College work got so out of control, I never got about to editing this chapter for almost a week! Dx I'm sorry!_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven:**

The sound of carriage wheels caught Arthur's interest as he sat in the entrance hall. He looked up from his book, an eyebrow quirked while he listened. Leaning back, he brushed aside a heavy curtain with his knuckles to reveal a carriage pulling up the curve of the estate's drive, its roof littered in suitcases while the horses bore the famous Kirkland crest upon their harnesses.

"Oh lovely," the English man mused as he snapped the novel shut. "Now the party can really begin." Fetching his cane from beside the plush window seat, Arthur managed to push himself to his feet just as harsh, metallic knocks came from the front door. He walked towards it, waving his hand to Manon who had appeared to answer it. "I got the blasted thing, it's just _them_." With a chuckle, Arthur leaned back on his cane while pulling open the door.

Outside, a fiery red-headed woman stood yelling back at the servants struggling to remove her luggage. "If you so much as _scuff _it, it'll be the last thing you ever do here!" She turned back to the door, ocean blue eyes a-flame before widening at the sight of Arthur smirking at her from the doorway. Behind her, a youthful voice piped up; "What's wrong, Niahm? You're blocking the way!"

Shaking her head, Niahm squared off her shoulders as she eyed her step-brother down. "…didn't drown?"

"Still single?" Arthur quipped back. Niahm folded her arms as she scowled back at Arthur.

From behind, a young lad of about thirteen peeked up over Niahm's shoulder. His cheeks were flecked in freckles to match the woman before him, and unruly auburn hair stuck wildly around his head; undoubtedly tussled by the wind and making the mop all the more hopeless to tame. The youth's face lit up at the sight of Arthur, and he rushed around Niahm to hug him. "Arthur! You're home! Did you kill so many pirates they had to send you back?!"

Chuckling both at the boy's attitude, and the sour face Niahm made as she watched them, Arthur gave the youth's hair a light ruffle. "No, Cailean… I'm just home on a short leave. I was wondering when you two would show up, it's been a tad too sober around here without you."

"Shove it," Niahm pushed past Arthur, leaving her half-brother out on the steps with him. Arthur watched her go with a light chuckle, pausing only when Cailean piped up again.

"Don't mind her, Arthur," light teal eyes looked up. "Grandmother O'Hara decided that Niahm's suitor wasn't 'good enough' and had him chased off." The boy frowned, looking back after his half-sister. "I didn't see anything wrong with him; he was really nice, always smiling and laughing. He owned a bakery in the village, and would always have something sweet to eat when he came to court Niahm."

Arthur chucked at the other's toothy grin at his memories. He turned, leading Cailean in with an arm around the youth's shoulders. Ushering him to the stairs, Arthur remained on the checked floor while Cailean began his ascension of the steps. "Go get yourself settled in, lad. I'll go tell Peter you're home." With a brisk nod and small smile, Cailean turned away from Arthur and rushed to his room.

Shaking his head, Arthur turned to walk towards the back of the grand estate house. He found the servants' door unlatched in the back of the kitchen; a now untended path that lead out into the kitchen's gardens. He stepped outside, slowly closing the door behind him, and stood a moment with closed eyes as he let the sun warm him. In the distance, he could catch the sounds of the estate's grand gardens, from the running fountain to the singing birds.

The estate's garden was a gray-stone walled structure that in the summer was covered in miles of blooming vines and creeping roses. Rumor amongst the town women was that the wall surrounding the fabled Kirkland gardens was all that remained of an ancient castle that once ruled the area. Arthur gave a snort as he stared at the walls. He knew the garden's hidden truth. His great-grandfather had the wall built after the death of his daughter; a beautiful young heiress that had succumb to death after she had fallen into the garden's pond. In his grievance, the old lord had the garden sealed off, and only until recent Kirkland generations had the wall been broken apart and laid siege to by ivy and roses.

Hand in his pocket, Arthur limped his way from the kitchen's garden and to the entrance at the back of the wall. The roughly made entrance was once a large section of the stone wall that Arthur's father had torn down.

"_To open up the estate"_ his father had once said. _"What is the point of all these greens if we keep the exotic cloistered from the view of the world?_"

Arthur had been six when his father had told him that; a young, impressionable youth that trailed after the man like an eager duckling.

The Englishman shook his head at the thought, tearing his hand away from where he had been gently touching the wall's jagged edge. Turning his gaze inwards, the sailor saw Tino first. The Finnish man was resting by the pond, seated on one of the many benches that decorated the scenic area. A book was propped up in his hands, and he would occasionally flick back a page before continuing on. A few yards before Tino was Peter, the boy kneeling down in the mud with his arms thrust into the water up to his slender elbows. He had a grin that practically split his face in two, and Arthur could see the mud splattered up onto Peter's face from where he stood by the wall.

However, Arthur soon began to frown at the sight of the stranger kneeling beside his younger brother. Another man, looking closer to Tino's age than his own, was laughing along with Peter in the muddy shores of the pond. His pant legs and shirt sleeves were rolled up and twisted into position as the older man crouched alongside Peter. His forearms rested against his knees while he watched, swaying occasionally as he tried to maintain balance in the shallow water. The man had sandy blonde hair with one particular section that stuck defiantly up in a cow-lick, and his eyes were closed behind a pair of glasses, the black frames standing out against the lightly tanned skin. With a scowl, Arthur started walking towards them.

Peter noticed him first, jumping to his feet with his hands cupped in front of him. "Arthur! Look what I got!" The boy rushed towards his cane-wielding brother and thrust his hands out to him. One hand peeled away to reveal a small amount of water in Peter's palm with three black, squiggling tadpoles trapped within. "Alfred taught me how to catch them! Isn't that cool?!"

With a nod, Arthur gave his brother a light pat on the head. "Yes it is, but don't keep them out of the water too long, they'll die." He couldn't help but chuckle at the panicked look on his youngest brother's face before the youth turned and rushed off to dump the tadpoles back into the pond. That was when Arthur noticed Alfred walking up to him, hands lazily shoved into the pockets of his haphazardly rolled up dress pants. He wore an equally lazy grin sloping across his lips and he slouched while coming to a stop before the shorter Englishman.

"Hey, hope I didn't step any boundaries with the little guy." Arthur's nose wrinkled lightly at the American accent assaulting his ears. "I came to pay Allistor the rent for this month, but I guess he's busy or…sleepin or something. Your butler guy only said I had to wait." Alfred shrugged his shoulders, still grinning as he ran a hand through his hair, invincible to the pointed look Arthur was sending his way. "But then I ran into Peter and he was all bored so I thought, 'hey, I'll play with the little dude till Allistor's up!' and then we just kind ended up out here and…"

Arthur raised a hand to stop the other's annoying rant. The shorter blonde stared up at him, eyebrows pointing downwards as he looked over the tall man. "…so what you are telling me…is that _you_'re who my brother rented out the house to?" The other's head bobbed up at down, grin splitting to span from ear to ear. Sighing, Arthur leaned onto his cane. "He would… Well, come on then. He's probably crawled out of his cave by now. If he's not I'll get him out myse-"

The garden fell silent at the sound of screams. Arthur whipped his head around, eyes wide as he looked back to the mansion where the sounds had echoed from. "What in God's name?!"

More screams came from the estate house, high pitched and frantic. Stealing a glance back, Arthur saw Tino holding Peter to him, violet eyes wide as he too looked at the mansion, struggling in his best efforts to keep Peter from rushing to the house. Arthur glanced over to Alfred and scowled. "You, come with me. Peter, stay here with Tino like a good lad!"

Lifting his cane, Arthur ran back to the estate as best he could, wincing at every pull and tug on his leg wound. Alfred shouldered his way into the manor house first, Arthur right on his heels. They paused a moment in kitchen, looking around frantically before another scream echoed through the house.

"Niahm!" Arthur shoved past the stunned American in his kitchen, rushing through the house to the second floor. Allistor was dashing out of his room by the time Arthur made it to the hallway, and the red-head wasn't far behind his brother as they raced down the hall towards their step-sister's cries.

The brothers rushed down a corridor just as Niahm stumbled backwards from a doorway. The wild-haired woman had her hand pressed to her mouth, another wrapped around her corseted waist as she stared wide-eyed and green faced back into the room.

"Niahm!" She looked over at Allistor's call, tears welling fresh up into her eyes. Barely managing to croak out his name, she rushed towards the red head to throw herself against his chest, where she stood clinging for dear life as sobs wrecked his slender frame. The brothers looked to each other, and Arthur pushed past the two to look into the room.

He stopped just outside the door, looking in before the color began to drain from his face. His cane slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor, Allistor's head shooting up to look at Arthur in shock.

The room, once white, was painted a dark staining red; dry against the wall in the intricate spider webs and splatters. The curtains had been torn apart, screaming a history of a struggle unseen by the others in the house. They attempted to shield the window in its painted horror, yet Arthur's eyes still were able to behold the red light being filtered in through the puddle on the pane.

Slowly, with a shaking frame, he let his eyes drift downwards from the splattered window to meet the blank eyes staring back at him. His brother's head lolled to the side, a jagged smile stretching across his neck and still lightly weeping in its wicked grin. Embedded deep between his ribs lay the murderous device; a stained kitchen knife resting to its hilt in its victim's breast.

"A…Arthur, what is it?" Allistor broke the blonde's moment, and Arthur slowly turned to look over. He found Allistor staring at him in concern, his eyebrows knit tightly together. Slowly, Arthur shook his head side to side, his chest caving inwards from the weight killing him slowly on his shoulders. The blonde went to open his mouth, to offer some form of answer to the look Allistor continued to send his way, but his voice was held off, gripped and imprisoned by an invisible force.

From their stepsister's sobs, a single name echoed out into the hall that made Allistor's arms drop from her frame. Arthur sank against the doorframe; eyes wide and downcast as he listened to Niahm gain her voice again like a phoenix raised from the miserable ash, while she moaned, "Dylan… Oh my Lord, Dylan…"

Allistor gently stepped around the weeping woman, and sparing a nervous glance at Arthur, he turned to look at the death bed of their brother. Slowly, his eyes widened before the lids lowered and glazed over eyes looked down to the floor boards. Barely audible at first, his shoulders shook with the breathy laugh coming from between his lips.

Alfred turned the corner just in time to see the grand Kirkland lord throw his head back in torrents of laughter, a hand pressed against his pale forehead. Allistor began to shake, from the knees to the head, as his laughs took a turn for the deranged and tears rolled down to clash with the floor. Eventually, Allistor's legs gave out and he collapsed to his knees struggling to breathe between his hysterics. Arthur slowly turned his head, catching Alfred's eyes with his own muted and distance gaze as they stared at each other over Allistor's head.

The American could only stand there, frozen in the middle of the chaos and thrust into the intimates of the Kirkland family. Out of place and surrounded by those out of mind, his legs refused to listen to his mind, keeping him there constantly assaulted by the wails and twisted laughter, and the haunting scent of iron burdening his nose. He could only stand there and stare at the Englishman looking back at him, a shiver running down his spine at the hollow look they reflected.

Chaos; pure and unadulterated madness in this nobleman's home.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_And finally! The Kirkland/O'Hara clan is back together! ...sort of... Here's the first pearl to our gothic necklace, poor Wales..._

_New Character Names -_

_Niahm O'Hara = Republic of Ireland_

_Cailean Kirkland = Northern Ireland_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight:**

It felt all wrong, like when someone leaves their diary open and you accidentally catch a line or two. That sinking feeling you get when you've become far too involved in the personal lives of perfect strangers and dive in too deep to ever think of surfacing again and swimming out of the choking muck.

Alfred Jones sighed. From his position leaning against the wall, the young man spied on the thinning sea of black that had invaded to flood the mansion. The initial crowd had dissipated back into their carriages, riding away when the night began to claim the estate. Blue eyes slid over to regard their brother's form standing beside him. There was a faint trace of a smile on the American's lips when Matthew looked back at him, body language screaming his feelings on the situation.

Briefly patting Mathew on the shoulder, Alfred pushed himself off the wall. His tense brother frowned. "Come on, Mattie." Walking forward, Alfred made his way through the shoreline of the sea, parting any remaining guests like Moses with his staff. The pair made their way into the drawing room located off to the back of the house. Instantly, they were submerged in the fading smell of daffodils and lilies from the past day's wake. Mathew's hand stopped his brother when it quickly grabbed onto Alfred's sleeve cuff.

"Wait," the quiet sailor whispered, holding him back. Alfred frowned as he followed his brother's gaze. The Kirkland family was scattered around the drawing room, segregated by their own grief. Niahm sat on a couch, her gaze far off while nimble fingers stroked through Peter's hair; the child had fallen asleep in the late hour, his head nestled on his half-sister's lap. Cailean stood beside the red headed woman, his hand resting on her shoulder in silent comfort. A few guests had separated the family, Arthur and Allistor standing over by the window. But as Alfred made a move to approach the silent brothers, he soon saw why Mathew continued to hold him back.

A man, tall and blonde, was already approaching the brothers. He wore a smile that made Alfred's skin crawl. There was never a home for any form of a smile in a house of mourning, especially one such as this where no mercy was harbored, no pity nor empathy; not an ounce of compassion.

"Mes amis, my condolences for your loss." The man continued to walk up to the brothers despite the sudden looks of animosity from them. "How heart breaking, to lose poor Dylan at such a young age. And poor Miss Kaetlin, losing her betrothed so soon in life. Such promise he ha-"

"Shut it Bonnefoy," Allistor growled, low and intimidating. "Which impressionable young noblewoman's arm did your trounce in on this time?"

Francis shrugged gently, his long hair brushing along his shoulders. "So cruel, I've come to express my grief to the mourning family and instead you try to wound me." The Frenchman moved to rest a hand across his heart, dipping his head with a remorseful chuckle towards the two. "Such manners you have, and at the expense your own brother's memory." Blue eyes shifted to regard Arthur, the slim smile spreading across the Frenchmen's lips sending a shiver down Alfred's spine. "Surely you know how to treat your guests, mon petit Anglais. You were always the more….cultured of your father's flock."

Red rushed to Arthur's face as the short Englishman flexed gloved fingers by his side, cracking knuckles as they formed into fists. He was just opening his mouth when Alfred made his move.

"Arttie!" the American announced loudly as he began to cross the room. The black ghosts paused in their murmurs to turn and stare at this brash man making his way through the drawing room, following him with their disapproving muted eyes. Arthur's mouth hung open as he stared at Alfred, words lost in stammers on his lips. "I've been looking for you all over this house! Seriously, do you English people have a competition or something with your house sizes? I could get lost a million times over!" Laughing obnoxiously, he came up beside Arthur to clam a hand down on his shoulder. Soon, Alfred's smile turned to Francis, though it suddenly lacked any previous warmth it once held. "I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met, Mr….?"

"Bonnefoy," Francis held a hand out to Alfred, his slim smile lost to a gently sloping frown. "Francis Bonnefoy. The pleasure is mine." The two quickly shook hands, the Frenchman's frown deepening at Alfred's strength behind the greeting. Blue eyes coldly shifted back to the English brothers, quickly crinkling at the corners in a hastened smile. "I'm afraid the hour is late, my friends. Again, I am so sorry for your loss." With a small bow the Frenchman turned to leave; quickly draining the glass in his hand of any remaining wine before shoving it off to a passing maid carrying a refreshment tray. "Till the next time, mon Anglais!"

Alfred slowly released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding when the Frenchman left the room. "…that went better than expected," he said, smiling as he turned to Arthur. But instead of finding the Englishman smiling as he expected, the shorter man was scowling deeply and beginning to shake. "…are you alr-"

"Wh….ho…" Pulling his shoulder free, Arthur took a small step back. "Don't go sticking your nose into people's business! Who one earth do you think you are, s….swooping in like you're some self-claimed hero. It's brash and unbecoming, and something a child would do to get the wrong type of attenti-"

"Whoa there, old man." Alfred started to laugh when Arthur began to grow even redder in the face. "It was just looking like you were aiming to sock him, and not that he didn't deserve it or anything, but with all these hungry gossipers hanging around I don't believe you want _that_ floating around your inner circles."

Slowly, Arthur began to come back down from his turbulent anger, sparing the group in the room a small look-about. He cringed lightly at the sight of the young noble women at the door, watching the sailor with starved eyes and fans covering their lips in feeble attempts to hide their whispers. Biting the inside of his cheek, Arthur turned back to face the brightly smiling American before him and fought to keep the scowl on his face.

A dry chuckle behind him made Arthur turn around to raise an eyebrow at Allistor. The red head gave his brother a tired smile before looking back to Alfred. "What this fool means to say, is thank you," he said, monotonic. Alfred frowned briefly at the evanescent look of remorse and pain flashing through the elder's eyes.

"…pardon me, Lord Kirkland…?" The men turned to look down at the small voice calling up to them. Alfred's face fell at the petite woman before them, a grace drowning in a gown of coarse black and veiled from the world through a black-gauze sheet. She spared the Lord a minute smile when he bowed at her.

"Lady Kaetlin," straightening, Allistor spared her a slender, forced smile. "Anything I can do for you, my dear?"

She gently shook her head, eyes falling down to the side. Slender, gloved fingers reached out to caress the wilting daffodil resting in its crystalline vase nearby. "I wished to thank you for the hospitality you have shown me in such a grim time, even after our family ties no longer require it." Kaetlin paused as Allistor reached forward, gently taking her fingers from the deceased flower to place his lips atop the cloth-covered knuckles.

"M'lady, my brother would roll in his grave if he heard you talking as such," a sympathetic smile matched the red-head's eyes as he looked upon her. "You have not lost any relations in this house. Even if he had yet to place the ring upon your hand, we Kirkland's remain, as always, faithful to family."

Tender green eyes quivered beneath the veil before Kaetlin quickly brushed them aside with the heel of her hand. Alfred's heart sank at the weak "thank you," she whispered in return to the Kirkland lord. Folding her hands before her, the young woman curtsied lightly to Allistor before turning to walk to Niahm. The American watched as she knelt before the resting woman, gently shaking Peter awake before leading the child off by the hand, flanked by the Irish woman and Cailean.

Opening his mouth, Alfred made to voice his confusion before Arthur cut him off. "That was Lady Kaetlin Monte." Arthur shuffled, eyes shifting over to hold Alfred's with a dark cloud dampening them. "She and Dylan were to be married come winter."

Soon afterwards, Alfred and Mathew bid their farewells to the remaining Kirkland brothers before finding themselves traveling across the night-claimed estate to their rented home. Alfred faded away to the inner workings of the quiet estate house the moment he entered the house, leaving Mathew to his own elements.

Now armed with a candle and wrapped tight in his dressing gown, Mathew crept down the hallway towards his brother's room. He paused outside the door, leaning forward with his ear to the wood listening for any sign of life within before pushing it open. "Alfred?"

Jumping at his name, Alfred was soon shuffling papers around on his desk. He spun to face his brother with a light scowl. "Jesus, Mattie. Knock next time! You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"…me…give _you_ a heart attack?" Laughing quietly, Mathew walked across the room. "Forgive me if I don't quite believe you, Alfred." He stopped beside the desk, placing his candle down and leaning back against the wall with crossed arms as he cast his brother a mirthful look. Violet-hued eyes glanced downwards, catching the subtle shift in his brother's arm as the other made to rest on the messy portfolio of papers before him. Mathew scowled lightly at the yellowed paper just escaping Alfred's attempt.

Reaching forward, he quickly pushed Alfred's arm aside, the other too far in shock at Mathew's forwardness to counter-attack. "Alfred, what's this about?" He gently slapped the old newspaper, creasing the headline. "A murder?! This was dated almost three years ago, why are you reading about it now? What else do you have in there?" He made to snatch the remainder of the portfolio, but Alfred yanked it back at the last second and held it behind his back.

"It's nothing, Mattie! Just a little late night reading to put the mind at ease!" He grinned despite the growing frown on Mathew's face.

Sighing when he realized that Alfred would reveal no more, Mathew straightened and stared the other down. "…you have a morbid sense of humor if after all that's happened _this_ is how you relax." Lightly rolling his eyes, Mathew collected his candle from Alfred's desk and made way to exit the room. He paused; hand on the frame, before heaving a sigh and turning back with a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. "….good night, Alfred. Don't stay up too late."

"Good night, Mattie," Alfred chirped right back, grinning to the younger as Mathew left and clicked the door shut.

* * *

_Author's Note_

_New chapter! Yay! And in time for the end of the week, yay deadline completions! Hope you're enjoying the story so far. Till next chapter!_

_New Characters:_

_- Kaetlin Monte = New Zealand (I know there's a huge debate on N.Z.'s gender, and usually I'm all for N.Z. being a boy, but for story purposes, he just fit in so much better as a girl)_


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine:**

"Gott damn this weather is shit. Who's idea was it to come out anyways?!" Gilbert moaned as he trotted around several puddles lining the gravel and dirt road.

Beside him, Ludwig rolled his eyes. Just earlier that afternoon, Gilbert had come to the young German noble, demanding that he go out with his brother to meet up with Antonio at the inn. "A mystery, bruder."

Looking over at his little brother, Gilbert flashed a toothy grin and reached out to mess with the other's slicked back hair. "Come on, smile a bit! Shit, when I was your age I was causing as much trouble as I could for Opa. Then there's you who rarely even smiles!" The albino laughed loudly as his brother pulled away. "Time to live a little, Luddy! You're only a kid; go get a girl, wreck some havoc on the cities, and for crying out loud SMILE!"

"I'm not a child, Bruder," Ludwig sighed as he managed to push the rest of his tossled hair back into place. He gave the other a short glare before turning his attention back to dodging puddles. "Plus, with you around someone has to be the adult."

Gilbert barked in laughter, roughly wrapping an arm over his brother's shoulders and clapping him on the arm. He pulled the other towards him, catching the teen off guard, and soon was assaulting his brother's head with his knuckles. "You're barely eighteen, not eighty!" Gilbert quickly jumped away when Ludwig made to break free with an elbow aimed at his brother's chest. "I'm plenty of an adult for the both of us."

Shoving past him with scowl, Ludwig left the laughing man behind and walked into the inn.  
"I doubt that," he muttered beneath his breath. Scanning the tavern space for his brother's friend, he breathed a sigh of relief when caught sight of the wandering Spaniard waving a hand at them. Antonio had managed to claim a space in the back, nestled away from the local eyes and resting against the wall. Blindsided when his brother pushed past him, Ludwig went to follow the brash noble and yell at him.

He gasped when instead he crashed into another, rushing on instinct to catch the absued. He cringed as a tray fell to the floor, glass shattering as it collided. In the background, he weakly registered his brother's laugh and several shouts of angry Italian, but he himself was held captive staring down at those wide copper-toned eyes looking back at him.

"I-I," his shock fading, Ludwig scowled at his strange inability to speak. His frown deepened when the stern expression seemed to frighten the person further, causing them to jump with a quivering "ve" like noise. Quickly correcting himself, Ludwig sighed as he took a step back. "I apologize about that… I should have been paying more attention."

The other quickly shook their head, holding hands up to their chest. "N-No! No! It's alright, e' bene, e' bene! I was di-distracted by the window!" They pointed forward, drawing the German's attention to a stained glass window barely glowing in the afternoon haze. "Mi despiace, please don't be mad! It was my fa-"

"The fuck are you doing with my brother?!" Ludwig took a startled step back, eyes wide as a second head popped up into his view. The young Italian was almost a mirror image of the other, save for the tone of their eyes and a face far more sour than that of his apologetic sibling. "Get out! Fucking bastard, who the hell do you think you are?! Get out of my inn before I chase you out and gut you in the woo-"

"L-Lovi!" Throwing his arms around the fuming Lovino, Feliciano pouted at his slightly older twin. "It was my fault, fratello! Please don't be mean to the customers, they really won't come back!" A smile slipped onto his face when his brother stammered and looked at him with a reddening face. Finally, Lovino hastily shed his brother's arms and stormed off, rapid fire Italian falling from his lips making Feliciano chuckle and Ludwig stand there seven ways confused.

Turning back to the German, Feliciano folded his hands before him with a gentle tilt to his frame. "Mi dispiace, signore. Fratello doesn't really mean to be so grumpy." He bowed lightly, reaching for his misplaced tray. "Please excuse me, I should really get this cleaned up."

Tucked away in their corner, Antonio chuckled quietly into his mug. "It seems that your brother has finally received the infamous Lovino Vargas hospitality." He smiled, leaning back in his chair as he watched Ludwig knell beside Feliciano to aid in cleaning up the glass chunks. "I'm jealous."

"I'd be more jealous of the nice one if I were you." Red eyes slipped over to Antonio, smiling around the edges. "I never took you for a masochist, Toni." Taking his seat, Gilbert let his gaze drift back to his brother.

The vagabond prince shrugged, sighing as he placed his empty glass down. "Gilbert, mi amigo, have you never heard that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover?" Smiling, Antonio leaned lightly to the side, catching Lovino's eyes from where the youth stood behind the bar. He grinned, winking to the Italian and laughed when the other turned away scowling but red at the cheeks. "He's like a puzzle I can't quite figure out. It's…refreshing."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say." The albino laughed when he saw Lovino's eyes zeroing back in on Ludwig, the blonde having made the mistake of accidentally bumping heads with Feliciano when they went for the same piece. Raising a hand, he called over to the blonde; "Ludwig, be the gentleman and take the poor guy out to replace the glasses you broke!" A brilliant grin crossed Gilbert's face when Ludwig's head shot up with a dangerously pointed glare at his brother.

"…would you?" Feliciano's happy voice drew Ludwig's gaze back to find the other beaming. "That would be wonderful! It's always much more fun to go shopping with others!" Pushing himself up, the Italian brushed his hands off on his knees with a soft, content "ve" sounding sigh before smiling warmly up at the awkward looking German.

Storming over to the pair, Lovino took his brother by the arm and pulled him back. "No way in hell am I letting you go anywhere out of my sight with this creep. He's caused enough trouble as it is, who know what he'll do with you and your stupid carefree attitude," he hissed while dropping the other's arm. "We'll go later in the week or something."

"But fratello," Feliciano whined, eyes pleading.

"Si, Lovi." Lovino froze when Antonio spoke up. In the course of his intervention, Lovino had failed to notice Antonio walking up behind the two Italians. "I'm sure Signore Ludwig will even pay for the glasses. He's a very responsible young man, and it will save you the time and money."

Pausing for a moment, pretending that he wasn't weighing the Spaniard's words, Lovino finally threw his arms in the air and stormed back off to his bar. "Fine! But if anything happens to Feliciano," the Italian turned back to stare Ludwig down, a knife quivering from where it stabbed the wooden counter. The two's eyes connected briefly, and satisfied that his message had been sent, Lovino turned back to his work.

That was how Ludwig found himself walking down the streets of the southern English fishing town, Feliciano Vargas in tow. He sighed softly to himself, casting glances to the Italian that tended to fall behind his long steps. The bubbly man never changed, always greeting everyone they passed, friends and strangers alike, as if they were his family.

Feliciano caught the German's eyes in one of the moments that Ludwig had dared to glance back. He smiled, jogging to catch up with the man, and looked up to him with a bright smile. "Ludwig? Let's stop by the candy store before we go back. I know the kind that fratello can't refuse!" Wide eyes watched his companion hopefully, closing with a grin when Ludwig finally nodded. He took the German's arm in his own, ignoring the sudden tenseness taking over the man, and led him off down the street.

As they turned a corner, Ludwig found himself frowning when his Italian guide suddenly stopped. Feliciano stepped back, positioning himself as if to almost hide behind the other. "Is something wrong, Herr Vargas?"

Suddenly Feliciano pouted, looking up at the formal title."Feliciano, my name is Fe-li-ci-a-no," he reiterated, holding up a finger in mock chastisement. Content with the awkward smile on Ludwig's face, Feliciano let his hand fall back down to clutch at the other's sleeve while his gaze returned to the street. "…it's just…so sad what happened to them. Bad things always seem to follow that family…"

Following the Italian's eyes, Ludwig frowned softly when he saw the youngest of the Kirkland line walking hand-in-hand away from them with his nurse; a black-band of cloth fastened around the youth's arm. "It is. My bruder wasn't clear on the details of it all, but it seemed a very…violent thing."

Nodding, the Italian shuffled slightly. "It's been so long since the last murder that I almost forgot how scary it all is."

"…last murder?" Ludwig questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Nodding slightly, Feliciano dropped his eyes to his feet. "It was a very long time ago, back when Nonno was still alive; it's been almost three years I think..." He bit his lip lightly, scrunching an eye closed as he recalled the memories. "Two sisters were found murdered in the woods outside of town, stabbed over and over again with their names carved next to them in the grass. Elise and Adelheid Zwingli." Shivering, Feliciano leaned closer against the German and tightened his hold. "They were such nice girls, I used to play with Elise all the time when we were younger… Why anyone would want to hurt such sweet girls…" his voice trailed off before he quickly shook his head. "Nonno wouldn't let Lovi or I leave the inn without him for the longest time. It was so scary…"

Going wide-eyed, Feliciano looked upwards at the hand resting on his head in awkward comfort. His gaze shifted, connecting with the German's before Ludwig pulled away and turned with a soft scowl. "…they'll find the murderer soon, so…don't worry about it, alright?" Blue eyes flicked back to Feliciano, quickly turning away at the bright smile on the shorter man's face.

"Ok Ludwig, I trust you!" Before the other could react, Feliciano had Ludwig's hand clasped in his own and was dragging him back down the street again. As they neared their destination, it finally clicked in the German's head.

"Her… Feliciano…? What did you mean by bad things always follow the Kirklands?"

Stopping short, Feliciano turned to look over his shoulder at Ludwig. He frowned softly, tightening his hold on the other's hand. "Didn't you know? Lord Allistor was going to marry Elise. It was a really big thing at the time, the Kirkland heir marrying the daughter of an important naval officer. The families had just publicly announced their engagement when she went missing..."

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_Yay, another chapter! I'll try to have the next chapter up later this week, but definitely by the weekend._

_The murders of Elise and Adelheid are actually mirrors of the deaths of the two sisters from the song "The Folkestone Murder", which itself is actually based off the murders of Caroline and Maria Back in 1856/57._

**_New Characters:_**

_Elise Zwingli = Liechtenstein_

_Adelheid Zwingli = F! Switzerland_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten:**

"I apologize, Mr. Jones. Your call was... unexpected." Niahm's eyes fell to the man beside her. Fingers tightened gently around the arm he had offered her when they began their stroll through the gardens. "It seems you have very bad timing when it comes to meeting with my step-brother."

Alfred only shrugged, smiling back to her. "Maybe it's a sign that I should stop trying to pay my rent." He grinned at the weak laugh escaping the lady in black beside him. A glance back at the estate house resulted in the American slowly raising an eyebrow. "Your brothers make it seem like I'm going to steal you away," he said as curtains shuffled in an upper story window.

He turned back at Niahm's scoff to find a scowl on her face. "Don't flatter them; all they care about is making sure I don't go about tarnishing the good Kirkland name." She shook her head but turned to look up at the windows with a frown. "I hope that was Cailean... That boy's been awfully aloof this whole day." Turning her eyes to the ground, the young Irish woman softly sighed. "If I may be so bold as to offer some advice, Mr. Jones?"

Alfred looked down at her, his eyebrows threatening to disappear in his hair line. "And what would that be, Miss. O'Hara?"

Tired teal eyes slipped back up to behold Alfred's face, crinkling weakly around the corners with a forced smile. Tenderly, she patted his arm before releasing him and walked ahead. At the doorway Niahm paused, turning her head to the side as she braced herself against the broken stone with her raised palm. A gentle tilt of her head had her barely looking back to him.

"Don't get involved with those brothers if you want to get out alive."

Frozen, he was left alone in the garden to watch the apparition of black fade away around a corner. Alone amongst the plants, his eyes widened at the chill slowly gripping his spine. All his hair stood on end, causing the young man go ridged. Whipping around, he scowled up at the window; the curtains snapped shut.

"…get out alive, huh?" He smirked, giving the window a final look-over. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he began walking out of the secluded floral wilderness. "Sounds like a challenge."

"What does, sir?"

Stopping short, Alfred twisted his torso to the side. Manon stared back up at him from where he crouched beside the bed of creeping vines. Raising an eyebrow in question, Alfred tramped over to the valet. "What on earth are you doing?"

Manon quickly adverted his eyes. Shoving his fingers back into the tangle of vines, he went back to pulling them apart to expose the earth beneath. "Something trivial, sir. Bit of an embarrassment on my part." He sighed softly, head hanging before he stood to face the American. "Was there anything you needed? Perhaps I could escort you to the drawing room for some tea while you wait for his Lordship's return?"

"…isn't he upstairs?" Alfred questioned, raising a hand to point towards the windows.

"Afraid not, sir." The valet shook his head. "His Lordship left for business in London with his brother earlier this morning. Only the Mistress and the young lords are in residence at the moment. I apologize for the inconvenience." Manon frowned when he noticed Alfred was no longer paying attention; the blonde's eyes were busy scanning the estate's windows with a slow-forming scowl. "Sir?"

Jumping, Alfred turned an apologetic smile to the valet. A hand crept up to sheepishly rub at the back of his neck as he chuckled. "Sorry I just thought I saw…" his voice trailed off at the unamused expression on Manon's face, and he quickly hid his words behind a laugh. "Sorry, sorry. What was that about a drawing room?"

Manon looked the other for a moment, sighing as he turned back to the house. "This way, sir."

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_Oooh, a short chapter! That's almost like finding a shiny pokemon... Anyways, more to come soon. Allons-y!_


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven:**

Heaving a sigh, Alfred scowled at the window. His fingers tapped out a staccato rhythm along the arm of his chair as he fidgeted nonstop in the quiet drawing room. A man could only do so much to entertain himself when determined to wait for his benefactor, and Alfred had long passed his "hide the tea cup from Manon" game; especially after the butler gave him a particularly cruel stare that made him shiver thinking about it.

His eyes drifted back to the spines of books, groaning softly as Manon's threat to not touch echoed in his head. There was so many staring at him, and he would give anything just to continue running his fingers down the old leather spines, crack them open, and indulge in the scent of old parchment and ink. But no, that grumpy butler had to glare at him from the doorway.

Alfred rolled his eyes lightly, debating on the valet's age now to fend off the boredom. He looked no older than himself or Mathew, but he was already in charge of a majority of the house functions. The American was just beginning to wonder if it was a family inherited job when the soft creak of the drawing room door broke his train of thought.

Shooting up, he smiled brightly when Allistor appeared in the doorway, fingers still on the handle. The red head sent his tenant a tired smile and motioned for him to follow; the pair quickly heading to the Lord's second-story study.

"I apologize for the wait," Allistor began.

Alfred shrugged in response. "Business is business, I understand." Chuckling, the blonde let his gaze wander over the old suits and portraits decorating the halls. "I was actually joking around with your sister earlier tha-"

"Step-sister," the other coldly cut in.

Blinking, Alfred slowly nodded and slowly closed his mouth. "Step…sister. Right, sorry." He followed the young Lord into the room, suddenly feeling dwarfed by the shelves pressed against the walls. A small grin parted his lips as he felt the nostalgia of sneaking into his father's business meetings wash over him. With no Manon to cast him a stern stare, he indulged himself in running a finger gently over several over the books. "What a collection… There has to be hundreds up here! And here I thought the ones downstairs were the library; this room out-does them all!"

Nodding absentmindedly, Allistor collapsed into his chair with a sigh. He ran a hand over his face, Alfred cringing lightly as he heard nails dragging across untended stubble. "So…rent?" The Lord asked quietly, giving his excitable tenant a wary glance.

"Right! Sorry!" Quickly shoving his hand into a pocket, Alfred stepped forward to place a wrapped bundle into the other's hand. He leaned back, hands in his pockets as he watched Allistor flip through the notes with a crooked frown. "I…never really was able to formally express my condolences to you and your family for, um…yea." Instantly Allistor scowled and dark emerald eyes slipped up to hold Alfred's gaze. "I couldn't possibly begin to imagine how it must feel to lose your brother like that. If I ever lost Mattie I'd-"

"You don't know." A swift intervention stopped Alfred's words in their tracks. Leaning back in his chair, Allistor regarded the other before him sourly. "You can't possibly know. Everything with you is a hypothetical mess of maybes and what if's that will never exist." Alfred took a step back when his host began to stand; the red head's face a contorted mess from the world's weight on his shoulders. "…I'll escort you to the door. Lord only knows where Manon ran off after I returned."

As they left to walk through the empty house, Alfred frowned at the echoes their footsteps caused. Yet as they turned to the marble staircase, Alfred gasped and stopped just short of running into Allistor. The other had paused at the top of the stairs, his shoulders suddenly tensing.

Leaning to the side, Alfred smiled brightly when he saw Niahm before them, staring at Allistor as she stopped halfway up the steps. "Good eve-"

"Is something wrong, Niahm?" Allistor asked, either ignorant or impervious to the small scowl Alfred was sending in his direction.

Raising her chin against the other's dominance, Niahm squared off her shoulders and narrowed he eyes. Her gaze flicked to Alfred. "Good evening, Mr. Jones." He cringed lightly when Allistor's eyes quickly shot him a glare before turning back to Niahm.

She slowly folded her hands before her; her pose reminding Alfred of a queen ready to take on the world. "And if you must know, I am looking for Cailean. I lost track of him right after you and Arthur went to London;" Her shoulders shrank a degree and Alfred fought against the urge to race down the steps and embrace the woman when her hands began to shake. "…I was hoping that he had left with you. But when Manon told me that only Arthur and you had returned…"

Alfred's eyes widened as Allistor suddenly descended the stairs in a flurry, his step-sister soon beneath his arm. It was like a hammer and chisel to marble, the way she crumbled beneath his touch and dropped her gaze to the floor. The eldest Kirkland gently placed a kiss to the top of her head, readjusting his hold when she leaned in against him. "We'll help you look for him. He's still just a child; I doubt he went far let alone leave the estate. And I would have been alerted if any of the horses were missing when I returned. He has to be somewhere around the house, Niahm."

She nodded, raising her hand to brush the heel of it against her eyes. "…he told me before breakfast that he was going to the garden. I checked multiple times, but there was no sight of him; only broken flower stems on…" her voice cracked and she clamped slender fingers over her mouth to aid in fighting away her panic.

Alfred frowned and trotted down the stairs. Niahm glanced up at him in surprise to find the American smiling down at her. "I'll go check the garden again," his gaze connected briefly with Allistor's, who nodded his consent. "Maybe there was something we didn't see. Don't worry," he said with a bright smile. "We'll find him."

Departing from the siblings' company, he made his way to the servant's entrance at the back of the kitchen. He laughed despite himself, finding it both alarming and hilarious how well he was beginning to memorize the layout of the vast Kirkland home. Approaching the old garden wall, Alfred stood silently at the doorway to look in, frowning at the shadows of approaching night claiming the plot.

He nearly jumped from his skin when someone tapped his shoulder.

Spinning around, Alfred held a hand to his heart with a weak laugh; Arthur continued to glare at the American blocking his path. "Jesus, you Kirkland men," chuckling as the scowl seemed to grow, Alfred dropped his hand. "It has to be a family thing, how else do you creep about like that?!"

"…we walk?" Arthur sighed, shoving past the other to enter the gardens. "What on earth are you doing out here at this hour? Don't you have your own brother at home to pester?" That acidic green glare shifted back to Alfred as Arthur paused, fingers just brushing against the petals of a rose.

Shrugging, Alfred followed him. "Sure I do, but I'm just looking into something for your sister."

"Step-"

"Step-sister, I know." Groaning, Alfred rolled his eyes. "What is it with you two; she's still your sister regardless of who married who!" He raised an eyebrow as Arthur shook his head and walked away muttering. "Sorry, what?"

"I said," looking over his shoulder, Arthur narrowed his eyes. Alfred folded his arms, cocking his head slightly when the Englishman stopped speaking and went wide eyed. "What di….What did you do to the bloody daffodils?!"

"Me!?" he shot back in surprise. Arthur limped over to the wilted patch, kneeling before them with a mortified face. The Englishman used his cane as a support as he reached out to carefully brush his fingers beneath the crushed yellow petals. "I didn't do anything to them!"

Arthur snapped his attention back to Alfred, and the American was sure that scowl was going to become a permanent fixture on the other's face. "Look at them, they're ruined! Let me guess, it wasn't you that stepped on them, either. Clumsy git," turning back, Arthur sighed as he let his had fall away from the flowers. "Now they're ruined…"

Frowning, Alfred walked over to kneel beside the Englishman and his wilted flowers. His gaze fell to the trampled plants, cringing mentally at the damage dealt upon them. Their stalks had been crushed beneath the weight of a boot, the impression still in the dirt. Thick leaves had been knocked clean from the stalk, and the gentle cup-and-saucer shaped petals were a mess with angry dark wet lines. "Arthur, I promise I didn't do this…"

He attempted to coax some form of reaction from the Englishman, going so far as to reach out for the other's shoulder. But as his fingers just grazed the fabric of the man's suit, Arthur pulled away. The garden fell to silence as it seemed to mourn along with the man.

Resting his cane down, Arthur reached forward to gently cup a wounded but recoverable flower. He eased it slowly to an upright pose, a melancholic smile gracing his features. "Someone did; flowers don't get crushed out of thin air, lad." Pushing at the dirt, he formed a small mound at the base of the flower to aid in helping it stand once more. He leaned back with a soft sigh, brushing his hands off along his thighs. "…these were Dylan's favorites; the daffodils. Mother had them planted right after he was born."

Alfred's head perked up, eyes widening behind his glasses when the confused Englishman turned to stare at him. "Wh-what?" He reverted to a scowl when Alfred shot to his feet. "What the hell are you doing?! Jones!"

Ignoring the other, Alfred's eyes began scanning the dark estate windows. They reflected the night sky back at him, everything deathly still behind their panes. Raising a hand, he pointed towards the rediscovered curtain with a frown. "Arthur, what room is that?"

Arthur pushed himself back to his feet before casting a weary glance at the mentioned window. "Nothing but attic space, why?" He gasped when Alfred took off at a dead sprint towards the garden exit. "Alfred!"

The American stopped short, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he looked back to Arthur. "Not now, Arttie! I gotta get up there!" He shot off, grinning despite himself when he caught the beginning of Arthur's stammers concerning his new nickname. But despite his quick arrival to the marble stairwell, he soon realized his ultimate dilemma with a groan. He knew the bottom layer of the house almost perfectly, but once he hit the second floor he was completely lost.

The soft clink of dishes in the dining room across the hall brought hope back to Alfred's eyes. He dashed towards them, spooking Manon into almost dropping the china when he came to a skidding halt inside the door, shouting. "Attic! Need! Get keys!"

Scowling, Manon carefully placed the dishes back onto the table. "…if you're asking about the attic, it hasn't been opened since the late Lady of house resided here." He sighed when Alfred remained, staring the valet down with hopeful eyes. "I apologize; I don't have the keys for that room… At least," he scowled, reaching absent mindedly to his hip to place a hand over empty space. "Not anymore."

Alfred frowned as he watched the man go about putting the dishes away. Suddenly he gasped. "_That's_ what you were looking for in the garden! You lost your keys!" Manon quickly turned on him, shushing the boisterous American with flighty eyes checking the doors.

"Yes! Now keep it down!" Hissing, Manon turned his back to him with a scowl. "If the Master of the house finds out…" The threat hung in the air unspoken, and Alfred frowned at the soft clinking from dishes being placed back on display.

"But how do I get there?" He whined, feeling a bit like a blood hound whose chase had just crossed the river several times. "I'll figure out the rest when I get up there!"

The valet faltered, his hand hanging on the knob of the hutch's glass door. Finally, he snapped it shut and turned to Alfred with a sigh. "Alright. But if you break anything down in your American _heroism_, I will not help you avoid the Master's wrath." Depositing the rest of the plates down on the buffet, Manon turned to walk back into the kitchen. He paused, looking back to Alfred with a quiet "Well?" that had the other running.

The pair ascended by the servant's stairwell. Guided only by the light of a single candle, Alfred felt a rush of relief hit him when he saw the door up ahead and the thought of escaping the tight dark steps seemed all the more possible. Manon paused before it, glancing back to Alfred with a hesitant expression. "Don't expect to get much farther than this, sir," he said as he reached out to tap the handle. "It's been…?"

Manon gasped, yanking his hand back as if he had been burnt while the door slid open under his touch. Wide eyed, the valet stared at the brass knob. "That's…strange." Scowling, he pushed forward with candle shielded behind a hand. "No one has been up here since his Lordship had to let the servants go. Their quarters were up here…" He clicked his tongue, staring disdainfully down at the dust clouds that rose around his feet. "…filthy."

Alfred nodded absentminded, his eyes glancing over the multiple doors as they past. Suddenly his hand shot out, grabbing the startled valet by the back of his coat. Manon turned to shout at him, only to stop when he found the American staring intently at the lower parts of the wall.

"If you say one thing about the dust," he scowled when Alfred held a hand up to silence him.

Crouching down, the American reached out. His fingers ghosted over the clean scrape marks among the heavy dust and his eyebrows furrowed. Jumping to his feet, he pushed Manon behind him and looked down the hall with a scowl.

"A-Am I in danger here?" the valet squeaked, peering around the shoulder of the larger man.

Alfred motioned for the man to stay behind and to be quiet. Creeping down the remainder of the hall, he pressed his hand against the door and reached for the handle. Slowly it turned beneath his touch.

"Cailean?" Alfred pushed the door open slowly, squinting when he was exposed to the cave-like darkness of the attic. "Cailean, are you in here?" A soft dripping noise answered him in the otherwise silent room.

Waving his hand, he motioned for Manon to come towards him with the candle. The valet shuffled awkwardly, sighing when Alfred turned to send a soft glare his direction. The other carefully handed the candle over, squinting past the haze as he tried to see around the glow and Alfred's shoulders.

The American turned back to the dark, holding the weak light out before him. He froze, mouth slowly falling open as Manon made a strangled gasp before turning tail to run. The valet made it a few feet away before he collapsed against a dusty wall, sliding down to his knees with weak mad-man murmurs.

Alfred remained, eyes locked in a futile staring match. The candle fell from his hand, clattering around before it sputtered out to plunge him in darkness again. But memory was enough, refreshed with every creak he heard.

A hand rose to clamp over Alfred's mouth. He legs threatened to give out beneath him as he collapsed against the door frame and began to shake. Memory was cruel, burning in the image of that young face staring back at him, now a red and blue asphyxiated grimace. Flighty eyes looked back up, cringing at a corer as his hypersensitive hearing clung desperately to the steady dripping. A jagged imitation of the roman numeral three had been carved into the youth's chest, providing a post-mortem river for the blood to drain, covering the crushed daffodils beneath the hanged boy's feet.

…_drip…_

_...Drip…_

…_DRIP…_

Alfred took a step away to double over and empty his stomach contents, choking on the dust that rose around him.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_SORRY! Sorry! Cailean, I loved you, sorry baby! Here's the second weekly installment! More chapters expected next week, though it might be a single update due to my work schedule. Seriously though, thank you everyone for your reviews so far, they mean so much to me! Till next week, duckies..._


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve:**

"Such a shame…"

"Such a pity..."

"Such a young life…"

Arthur's gaze flicked to the side, glaring out the corner of his eyes as he caught the end trails of scattered murmurs of the guests in the black-suit affair. It seemed that gossip was the demise of the aristocratic class, even at the memorial of the deceased their tongues were wagging about. He scowled, wishing they'd all be silent much like a certain blue-eyed man.

Freezing, Arthur looked down to his feet as he wondered how his thoughts had returned back to the American. A hand rose, weakly clutching at his lapels as the stream of thought turned into an overpowering wave from an dammed ocean, bringing back in perfect detail the look on Alfred's face when he came stumbling from the dining room doors.

He cringed as a ghosting memory brought along the mental image of Alfred's hollow eyes drifting over him as if he had not existed. Arthur didn't remember who had broken down first when the American had placed his hand on Niham's shoulders, but the message had been conveyed without the words that came next.

"_He's…dead…"_

Shuddering, the Englishman forcibly pushed himself away from the memories and in consequence, away from the sharp pain settling over his heart. He had not seen the American in the days since the discovery, and with the dark cloud that had seemed to settle over this Kirkland home, Arthur doubted he would ever see the other return. A fresh jolt crushed his heart, and to distract himself, Arthur turned back to the congregation. He quickly found his brother standing out amongst the crowd, tall and proud in his black garb. He made his way over, haphazardly catching eyes with a devil hiding in a corner. As Francis raised his glass in silent condolences, Arthur narrowed his eyes.

Turning his gaze away, he found it strange. The typical animosity that vibrated between the two men existed today as a dull roar if anything. A sense of unease settled over his shoulders as he neared his siblings. Sympathy was not a common expression in the Frenchman's eyes, but the grief and muted compassion behind the other's eyes drove a shiver down Arthur's spine.

"Mr. Kirkland," a man shot up from the ottoman, startling Arthur from his frenzied thoughts. The other quickly held his hand out to the shorter blonde, smiling in such a way that made Arthur halt. "I…apologize that this is how we're finally meeting."

Arthur only nodded, weakly reaching out to return the shake as he looked the other over. He was a tall, well built man with untamable licks of auburn hair flying away from his tanned face. He held an arm back, hand clutched feverishly by Niahm as the Irishwoman watched the exchange with wide eyes. _Oh_, Arthur thought, turning his gaze back to the other and nodded weakly. "Mr. Christianson, am I right?"

The other nodded, his smile something crooked and melancholic. "Yes sir, Ralph Christianson. I came as soon as I heard the news…"

"How chivalrous of you," was Arthur's dry reply. Bowing his head in a gentle tilt, Arthur looked away. "Excuse me."

Ignoring the soft, "of course" that came from the other, Arthur strode past him to take a place at his brother's side. He looked up to see a porcelain mask fastened to the other's features, hiding Allistor away like the fragile dolls with their all-seeing glass eyes and silent painted lips. Arthur turned away, slipping on a mask like his brother's as they watched the crowd in silence. Together, they crafted a picturesque image of black garbed dolls waiting on their stands to be broken.

"It can't be true though, can it?"

Furrowing his eyebrows, Arthur let his gaze drift off to the side as he caught wisps of the hushed talk. A scowl formed over his mask as he looked over the crowd of young women centered around the brash German who waved his hand like a circus ring master to his flock. His crowd consisted of the younger generations, drawn in like moths to the flame by his charismatic smile.

"Aber dame, it is." Holding a gloved finger to his lips, Gilbert winked at the woman; Arthur tempted to gag at her swoon. "I heard it from the most reliable source that I know of, ja Francis?" The called-upon man weakly choked on his wine and turned to his friend with widening eyes. "He knows the story better than anyone, the Bonnefoys and Kirklands used to be good friends before the inci-"

"Gilbert," Francis chided warningly, his eyes narrowed despite the playful smile on his face.

In turn, the German turned to his friend with a flamboyant grin. On the other side of Francis, Antonio let out a soft sigh and shook his head, distancing himself from the situation by tipping back his glass. "Come on, Francis… Tell them about the Kirkland bastard boy. The damen demand it," in response to his goading, the young ladies made soft noises of encouragement to their cornered story-teller.

Arthur's eyes widened as his body froze in tune with the German's words. He desperately searched Francis' face, praying to the heavens and all deities that would listen for a miracle to intervene and deflect the situation.

Yet despite the trepidation in the Frenchman's eyes, Francis sighed at his audience's pleading voices. Arthur was practically snarling as he watched the collected smile spread across Francis' face and a heart-broken sigh crossed the other's lips. He took it back, every thought that Arthur had made that the Frenchman had changed. The other was nothing but an actor at heart, a petty performer who would hold back at nothing to please a fawning audience. Compassion and grief were just part of the act and Arthur loathed himself for falling for it.

"Such talk is not befitting for such delicate ears as yours, madams; however, if your curiosity simply cannot be slated any other way," Francis paused, his hushed laugh ringing like a sharp note from the devil's own violin. "It was quite the scandal of the time. The talk of the parlor rooms as my mere used to say, Lord rest her soul. After the parting of the grand Lady Kirkland, the old Lord found himself lost on the island of Eire; a broken man in mentality and heart. His children, left abandoned in grand Britannia with their nursemaid as the nobleman sought reconciliation for the sins he was sure he had committed to have his wife dragged away by the consumption.

"It was there in that green, mythical land, that the Lord found himself in the throes of a passionate love with a goddess from beyond the pale, spending many a night mending his mind in her arms and chambers.

"Ah, it was a powerful, destructive affair, demoiselles." Francis sighed, shaking his head in a mocking pity. "A man lost without his first love, tangled in the arms of a wild heavenly being, burdened herself with a daughter from her late husband. Yet, no matter how the great Lord saw her or held her in his heart, she was to Great Britain a scandal and a liability, bearing a son of Kirkland blood long before he took her hand in matri-"

Arthur stumbled as a flurry of red shoved past him. As he struggled to keep balance with his cane, he saw Niahm, having thrown herself from her couch, storm across the drawing room. Several guests stepped away, watching with their mouth hidden behind fluttering fans. As the young Irishwoman pushed herself through the semi-circle of young women, they scattered back to their mothers and guardians in startled twitters.

"What the _devil_ possessed your tongue tonight, Bonnefoy," Niahm hissed as she stood toe-to-toe with Francis. She practically snarled up at the placid faced man before her, his eyebrow gently cocked at her display. "Where do you think your lies will take you? Some skirt perhaps? Father was far more in love with my mother than you could ever comprehend, you rouge! All the skirts that you chase, with your silver tounge and suave masks; who's dress hems were you chasing tonight, you disgusting excuse of a man!" In her temper, Niahm swung a hand back, prepared to strike the other across the face.

He caught her though, leaning down to close the distance between them with narrowing eyes. When Francis spoke, his voice was hushed and pointed. "Yet here you are, creating a spectacle at the sake of your own dear little brother's memory." He let her wrist go, Niahm breaking from the loosening grip with a yank of her arm before she cradled the abused appendage in her other hand. Francis' eyes flicked upwards, silently warning away the approaching Ralph before he turned back to Niahm. Her rage seemed to boil over again at the fleeting smile he sent her.

"I only tell les dames the stories that they wish to hear. Once upon a time you too enjoyed hearing me weave tales in the dark," he smiled as she snarled in response, taking a step back despite the heavy rush of red cloaking her freckled cheeks as the murmurs in the crowds increased. "I am a poet at heart, mon amour; who am I to lie and cover for your step-father's slanderous short comings?"

"Francis."

The Frenchman looked up to find Allistor staring at him. The young Lord narrowed his eyes and slowly raised his chin as he approached the other. He took Niahm's shoulder in his hand, gently guiding her behind him where Ralph quickly collected the woman. Sighing, Allistor looked down at his hands as he slowly began to pull at the fingers of his glove.

"I'm getting tired of your games, Bonnefoy," he said, loud and unwavering. "We're both getting too old for this; it's time to stop acting like a child and face the real world where consequences do in fact exist. Without looking up, Allistor gently tilted his head to the side as he pulled the glove off his remaining finger. "You have insulted, abused, and dragged this family's name through the mud for the last time, and be you a poet or not, I shall have satisfaction for your grievances."

A gasp ran ramped though the crowd as Allistor threw the glove down before Francis' feet and made to look the other directly in the eyes. Arthur's eyes shot wide open as his mouth went dry as he watched on in a muted horror.

His eyes narrowing, Francis looked up from the glove to start at Allistor's face. Finally, he nodded. "As you wish, your Lordship," he said quietly. Francis turned away, walking out of the drawing room as his friends made to follow. At the doorway, Gilbert paused, looking back only to flinch at the animosity leering back at him from every Kirkland in the room. He quickly turned and rushed from the estate, feeling their glares on his back even when he escaped the Kirkland grounds.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

_Wah haaa... Wow, I...apologize for that last chapter. I wrote that way too rushed and it was not up to par, please forgive me. *bows* I also appologize for the absence in updates. Combined with training for my job and getting ready for the upcoming semester, all I've wanted to do was sleep on my free time. Sorry! I'll try harder to at least get a chapter posted each week! Till next update!_

_New Characters:_

_Ralph Christianson: Australia_


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen:**

Thunder rolled across the heavens as the clouds above threatened to drench the already damp fields of the English countryside. In the distance, lightning lit up the horizon as the storm continued to roll in. Yet the horses were driven onwards, racing towards a distant river as wisps of white smoke billowed from their nostrils.

"Allistor!" Arthur shouted over the wind. He wince at every jolt and shake that slammed his leg against the horse; however, he kept up the mad speed to remain near his brother. "Don't be a mad man! Let Ralph and I settle this with his seconds!" On Allistor's opposite side, Ralph let out a loud, barking laugh.

"Sure we can! I'll hold the bastard down and you shoot 'im!"

Groaning, Arthur shot the brunette a flare before driving his horse on further until it flanked his brother's gelding. The weight of the pistol box grew substantially against Arthur's leg as he found only a determined scowl on Allistor's face.

"You have the _worse_ sense of self preservation I've ever seen! He's been looking for this moment since our youth, and here you are handing him the bloody bullet to do it with!? It's not too late to reconsider!" Arthur snarled at the cold shoulder he received. "Allistor!"

Suddenly Allistor's eyes shot to him, causing Arthur to jump slightly in his seat at the immediacy and fire behind them. They were sharp and wild; the byproduct of a mad man and a demon. "Then what do you propose I do, _brother_? Let him get away with it again?" The elder clenched his jaw as he turned away. "You of all people should be backing me up about this."

"I-" Arthur's words fell short as Allistor's horse shot forward again at its master's commands. Groaning, the blonde flicked his reigns and fell back into his original position behind the young lord. "You god damned fool," he breathed, shaking his head.

The trio soon came upon the river arching its way between the town lines. Slowing his horse, Arthur felt the beast hesitating beneath him as he stared at the small island. It was a small thing, centered in the twisting waters of an early spring river, and secluded by close-knit saplings in such a manner that it formed the perfect landscape for the covert gun show.

Arthur's mare balked beneath him as Ralph charged after Allistor; the red-head already half-way across the river. Despite his hand on the horse's neck, she continued to toss her head around and paw at the ground. Sparing a final glance over his shoulder, Arthur bit his lip. The rain was rolling in, streaking the distant horizon that brought a premature chill to his bones. Turning back, he urged his mare into the river, knuckles white against the reigns.

Ralph had already dismounted by the time Arthur entered the seclusion of the saplings. He walked over to take Arthur's horse, already having his and Allistor's reigns in a hand.

"You kept me waiting, your lordship."

Bringing his gaze forward, Arthur watched silently as his brother and Francis stood toe-to-toe. He glared when he found the Frenchman to be smiling, flanked on either side by his seconds. Arthur allowed himself a miniscule sense of self-satisfaction when Gilbert flinched under his gaze and looked away.

"Patience is a virtue, Bonnefoy," Allistor said. Arthur turned away, climbing down from his mount, only to stumble and cling with a soft curse as his leg threatened to let go beneath him. To the side he heard a weak chuckle from Ralph, but a quick glare silenced the man. As Ralph led the horses back to the river outside of the sapling enclosure, Arthur turned to look back Allistor, and finding the red-head's eyes on him, rushed to detach his cane and case.

"To first blood then; I demand satisfaction, Bonnefoy, not your life." Allistor's gaze dropped when Arthur came up to his side; the wooden case held open now and offering dueling pistols to the two men.

"How gracious you are, my Lord." Francis waved his hand lightly and Antonio stepped forward to inspect the presented weapons. Spaniard and Englishmen exchanged glances and Arthur almost begged the Frenchman's second to speak some sense into the two madmen to their side. Instead, he held his tongue and Antonio stepped back with a curt nod to Francis. "There is no other way then, mon ami?"

Arthur's heart stopped when Allistor reached out to pluck a pistol from the case. He wanted to scream as his brother glanced down at their father's heirloom, fondly tracing the cherry and ivory handle. "Not for you, my friend. Not today."

Francis sighed, shaking his head dramatically as he reached for his own pistol. Arthur stepped back to take his place beside Antonio and watched as Kirkland and Bonnefoy turned their backs to one another with pistols at the ready. With a sharp command from Antonio, the two began stepping away from each other.

Clutching at the handle of his cane, Arthur bit down on his lip when the two men stopped walking. They turned, aiming at each other's chests. Allistor narrowed his eyes, Francis sighed, and then there was smoke.

Allistor staggered, barely thrown back as the smoke around him cleared. A chill settled in Arthur's bones as he saw the red beginning to stain his brother's starch-white shirt just shy of his neck. Yet, despite his wound, the English lord smirked. His arm was raised high, aiming at the heavens with the trigger pulled down. Across the dueling field, Francis snarled at him, a streak of humiliation and anger coloring his cheeks red.

"Go home, Francis," Allistor managed to snarl. "Run."

Arthur rushed forward the moment he saw his brother lower his gun with a sway. He grunted when the taller man collapsed against him. Allistor weakly chuckled, a sound only audible to Arthur's ears.

"Are you _insane_?" Arthur hissed at him, a weak hysteria growing in the pit of his stomach at his brother's continued laughter. The blonde dared to look down the field, tightening his grip on Allistor when he saw Francis practically snarling, pistol shaking in his clenched hands.

Rage had found a home behind that man's eyes, existing as a dark, swirling void that threatened to manifest the Frenchman into a beast. He was vibrating with Antonio and Gilbert came to his sides, and with a snap of his arm, Francis threw the pistol away and into the mud; all the while shouting rapid-fire French at the brothers.

The situation quickly sobered however when Ralph crashed back into the clearing. All the men turned to look at him, Allistor eventually being the one to speak, albeit weakly. "What is it, boy?"

"Horses! Coming in from the direction of Folkestone," panting, Ralph quickly looked back over his shoulder. "Someone must've tipped off the Peelers!"

Swearing, Arthur turned to Allistor. "We need to leave. Get up damn it, get up!" With a wince, both Kirkland men stood. Ralph had run off again to collect the horses, giving Arthur enough time to look back. Francis was already mounting his horse, Gilbert shouting at Antonio to do the same. However, the Spanish prince had instead walked over to the Kirklands, his hand extended to offer the butt of the dirtied pistol to Arthur.

He nodded just barely to Allistor before turning back to mount his panicky stallion barely being controlled by Gilbert. Arthur watched the pair rush their horses off after Francis' mount already on the other side of the river and pacing nervously. He looked down to his hand, tightening his hold on the handle with a scowl.

"Come on!" Ralph shouted, already on his horse with the beast pacing circles and tossing its head about. "Arthur! Get on the damn horse!"

Pistol slipped protectively into his pocket, Arthur quickly mounted and took hold of his brother's reigns. As the trio shout out, racing across the river and away from the distant voices shouting at them from the other way, his hand found its way back to resting on the gun in his hand, and silently he thanked every god he had heard of from his travels for keeping the red-headed fool behind him alive this time around.

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

_Back with an update! Just a warning, with school starting back up my updates might drop back down to one chapter a week depending on course loads and stuff. Sorry! I'll keep trying hard as I can to update._

_Just some historical notes to clear up anyone's questions at the end:_

_Peelers__: a dated slang term for police at the time, based off of the name of the founder of the police force; Sir Robert Peel_

_The Duel__: What Allistor did by shooting into the sky was called deloping. Deloping was when a person intentionally missed their opponent to fulfill the conditions of the duel. It can also mean that you don't believe your opponent was worth shooting._


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen:**

With a heavy sigh, Arthur fell back into the dusty plush of his father's old chair. He leaned his head back, eyes closing for a moment of peace. The home had dissolved into a low buzz after the trio's mad dash into the estate. Shuffling until he was snuggled securely into the folds of old velvetine satin, Arthur scowled as he thought.

"How has it come to this," he breathed. Fingers raked through his unruly locks before they supported the Englishman's head up from the back. Fate must have been laughing madly the hour that Allistor gripped Arthur by the wrist and pulled him down to his bedside.

"_You're in charge now."_

Arthur scowled, ruffling his hair with an agitated growl. "Bloody hell I am." A quiet knock brought the English man from his muttering and he turned to the door. "Come in." He looked away as the door opened, Manon slipping into the study with a silver tray between his hands. Arthur watched from the corner of his eyes as the young butler paused at an end table to prepare the white and blue china. The familiar aroma of strongly brewed tea washed over the nobleman, drawing a small sigh from his lips.

When the cup was presented to him, he received it with a soft word of appreciation. He paused with the rim just shy of his lips and made to look at Manon's face. "I see that you found your key, Manon."

Manon jumped lightly at the statement, quickly dropping his gaze away. His gloved fingers automatically sought out the silver skeleton key resting on his tray. "Y-Yes sir, I recovered it yesterday." Shifting from foot to foot, Manon quickly stole a glance back to his employer only to flinch when he found Arthur's pointed stare locked onto him. "It… It appeared outside my quarters just yesterday morning; tied to my door handle, sir. I assumed that perhaps someone might have stumbled upon it and placed it there to avoid any…awkward confrontations, sir."

With a small nod, Arthur turned his gaze down to the cup in his hand. He paused a moment to swish the dark amber liquid around before tipping his hand and head back to down the unsweetened substance quickly. "Or perhaps returned."

"S-sir?" Frowning, Manon watched Arthur push himself to his feet and limp over to the desk where he began to shuffle around the loose leaves littering the surface. "You don't mean to suggest-"

Waving a hand dismissively, Arthur tsk'ed softly. Holding up a small slip, he thrust the paper out in Manon's direction. "Nothing, nothing. Take this and see to it that the good doctor receives his payment when he is done with my brother, will you?" He turned away as Manon took the paper and walked to the windows where he brushed back the heavy curtains with his knuckles and peered out at the pouring sky. "You're dismissed, Manon."

Arthur sighed softly when the hurried clinking of china and clicking of the door latch indicated the butler's departure. Leaning against the glass, he dared himself a small comfort and leaned his temple against the cooled surface; the sensation counteracted the dull pulsing of a forming migraine behind his eyes.

He jumped as the door swung open behind him with a crash and spun to face the intruder with a scowl. "Manon! I said you wer-"

His words fell short as he saw Alfred standing in the doorway, panting desperately for breath. His knuckles were white against his skin as he clung to the door handle. The American smiled, bright light flooding behind his eyes when he saw Arthur standing before him. "Thank god," he breathed, hand slipping from the door to revile a flustered Manon that had been pushed to the side in the hall.

"I'm sorry, sir!" the butler cried, puffing up like an offended bird. "I tried to stop him, but he just barreled through!"

"It's," Arthur paused, swallowing to clear his throat. "It's alright, Manon. He can stay." He watched the young man glance between guest and employer before giving up and walking away with a sigh. Arthur's eyes drifted back to Alfred, and slowly his eyebrows fell into a small frown. "Why are you here? You're soaked."

Chuckling, Alfred only shrugged. "You make it sound like I'm not welcome here!"

Arthur shook his head and reached for his chair, which he promptly occupied once again. "It's not that," sighing, he rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "It doesn't matter. Why _are_ you here?"

With a bright and bold smile, Alfred plopped down into a chair flush to Arthur. "I had to come and check on my favorite landlords. When I heard the news I had to check for myself."

Arthur paused, lowering his hand to gaze at the other over his knuckles. "The news…?" Narrowing his eyes, the Englishman straightened in his seat. "And what news is that, Jones."

Confusion flashed across Alfred's face for a brief second before he started to laugh, startling Arthur. "About the duel, dude! When I heard the rumor going around that a Kirkland had challenged Francis, I thought it was you!"

"How do you," Arthur faltered, hands clenching at the arms of his chair. His question brought a halt to Alfred's laughing, and Arthur quickly turned away with a scowl. "Well I hate to disappoint but that was Allistor who challenged Francis. I was the one that," Raising his hand, he covered his mouth with a few fingers and scowled. "Regardless… Everything is fine now; Allistor will survive to see another day, Bonnefoy got his feathers ruffled, and we'll all go back to boring ways."

Chuckling, Alfred shook his head. "That's too bad, I'd have paid good money to see you put that guy in his place." He laughed and quickly held his hands up before him in defense when Arthur's glare intensified.

Arthur sighed, folding his arms as he settled back into the plush of his chair. "How _did_ you hear about it anyways." He raised an eyebrow as he watched the American stop laughing and fidget lightly in his chair. Alfred's eyes drifted further away from Arthur as he refolded his legs.

"Oh, you know," he said, waving a hand. "You have a lot of talkative people in your social circle, old man."

"Watch it," Arthur snarled. He sighed as Alfred seemed invincible to Arthur's tone, laughing away like always, and he turned away to glare at the wall. He paused halfway and turned back to stare at the other's legs and slowly raised an eyebrow. "Why on earth are you so _filthy_, Jones? I understand it's raining outside, but you look like you went tramping through a bog."

"I…well you see," coughing as his laugh died short, Alfred looked down. His legs unfolded, he stared at the mud flecked across his pants. "Mattie wanted to go riding earlier this morning, but then it started to storm and I had to get off my horse to get his horse, and it's all one long…boring…wet story…"

His eyes slid back up to stare at Arthur, and the American offered a weak smile to match his shrug. Arthur broke the stare first, shaking his head with a sigh. "Of course it is," he muttered while reaching for a stack of papers to briefly look over.

Slowly, the pair fell into a comfortable silence. Alfred sat and watched quietly as Arthur would occasionally scratch a signature or note across a parchment. The afternoon slowly faded away in this simple fashion, and eventually Arthur glanced up to check on his silent companion. He was taken aback when he found Alfred smiling warmly at him from his chair, chin propped up in his hand.

"Wh-what? What is it?"

Alfred only laughed and straightened up in his seat. "Just day dreaming," he said. His head cocked gently to the side. "In no possible way was I watching you work. Whelp!" Jumping to his feet, Alfred slipped his hands into his pockets with a blinding grin. "See ya around, Arttie! Maybe next time I'll actually remember to bring my rent!"

As he walked from the office, Alfred felt his grin stretching at its limits in response to the incoherent stuttered and protests behind him. Whistling softly to himself, he made his way down the marble stairs with a little tilt of a smirk to his lips. However, as he made his way down into the foyer, he was almost run over by Peter racing past him to the second story, Tino right on his heels.

"I-I'm sorry!" Puffing out a cheek, Tino looked up the stairs to send a chastising frown up at Peter; the boy quickly ducked back behind the banister he was hiding behind. "With everything going on, I'm afraid he's getting a tad stir-crazy. Peter! Come apologize to Mr. Jones!" He crossed his arms, scowling when Peter continued to hide with a weak "No!" coming from the child.

"It's alright, I understand completely." Alfred grinned at the flustered man before him. "I used to give hell to my nursemaids; running up and down the stairs all hours of the night and sliding down the banisters when I could get away with it…"

Gasping, Tino snapped his gaze back to Alfred. "Please don't give him any ideas, Mr. Jones," he whispered hoarsely, stealing a nervous glance back up the stairs. He smiled weakly at Peter peeking out from around the banister. "He'll be all apologies the next time he sees you, but I don't think he'll come out now… He's determined to go see his brother and I'm apparently 'slowing him down'." Shaking his head, he chuckled lightly and turned back to Alfred.

"You were just with Arthur now, weren't you?" Violet eyes held the other's and he smiled sadly. "That man needs all the friendship he can get right now; you can see it in the bags under his eyes. After all that's happened to this family, to these good people, he needs just as much support himself as he's trying to give. One man cannot stand under all this weight alone. He'll never ask for it, or even accept it if someone offers; Arthur's far too proud a man. But you," patting Alfred's shoulder, Tino began walking up the stairs.

"You already knew that, didn't you?"

Alfred watched as Peter shot out from behind the banister to grab Tino's offered hand the moment the Finn reached the top; the boy glanced back to wave quickly at Alfred before dragging Tino off the hall. As he left the estate, humming to himself as he walked across the lawn, Alfred stopped to look back up at the house. A smile spread across his lips when he found a single window aglow, holding the silhouette of a man in its confines. "You're right, I do."

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

_Another chapter, whoo whoot! And in the same weekend, yay updates! AND American came back! _

_Thank you everyone who's leaving reviews; they really make my day! To clear up some confusion I promise that yes, this story is a USUK relationship and will evolve as the story goes on. Sorry if there was any confusion! Thank you again everyone who's been leaving such great reviews!_

_Till the next update! -Midnightmuse_


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen: **

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Ta-_

"For the love God, knock it off!"

Jumping, Alfred spun around. He smiled sheepishly at Arthur. The Englishman was glaring daggers at him from behind his desk. Quickly taking his hand off of the water-drinking bird toy, Alfred landed heavily on the office's armchair, legs hanging over an arm as he grinned obliviously.

Arthur groaned, flicking his papers back into an upright position. Occasionally his gaze would flick back to Alfred, only to find his obnoxious companion reading book spines, swinging his feet and silently whispering to some song in his head.

How long had it been like this, the pair of them in "Arthur's" study with the American lounging about with random bouts of thoughts or ideas. Stealing a final glance over the edge of his papers, Arthur calculated the days in his head.

Just over two weeks; bloody hell.

A soft knock at the door sent Alfred to his feet like a well-trained guard dog. He turned back to Arthur with a lopsided grin that caused the Brit to tighten his hold on his papers. The lad really should stop smiling at people like that; it makes them do things they regret.

"Come in," Arthur, regaining himself, called to the door. It swung open and he raised an eyebrow at Manon peeking in. The butler looked positively flustered beyond all belief, his hair up at random odds and ends. "Good lord man, what happened to you?"

Bowing quickly to Lord and guest, Manon gave Alfred a careful glance before looking back to Arthur. "It's your step-sister, my Lord!" He jumped when Arthur shot up, hands quickly waiving to dispel the tension forming behind Arthur's eyes. "N-No, nothing like that, sir! She's returned from her trip to London, sir. And well," he paused, looking down to his hands for a moment. "It's best if you come see for yourself."

Arthur and Alfred spared a glance before Arthur grabbed his cane and made a hurried exit. Making his way to the stairwell, he rolled his eyes as Alfred raced past him. The American could be such a child at times, standing well out of Arthur's reach at the bottom grinning up at him. Choosing to carefully make his way down instead, the steady _click_ of his cane against the marble echoing, Arthur made it to the first floor just as Alfred was beginning to bounce on the balls of his feet.

"You're so impatient," the Englishman shot at Alfred while looking about for his sister.

"And you're so slow!" Alfred let out a playful groan as Arthur waved him off and limped to the doorway. Alfred couldn't help but grin as the door was carefully pulled open by one of the new maids Arthur had managed to hire back in his time as the substitute-Lord. It was good to see the stress fall off of Arthur when money began to flow again; plus the house wasn't _so_ lonely with the new souls walking about the walls mansion.

Stepping outside, Arthur paused on the steps. Cautiously, his eyebrow rose, observing Ralph help Niahm down from the carriage, hands gently clasped. "When did a London trip take two weeks, Niahm." When the red-headed woman looked up at her step-brother, pink streaking across her face, Arthur began to frown. "…Niahm?"

"Gretna Green is beautiful this time of year," she finally said, barely above a murmur, as she cast her gaze elsewhere. "You should go see it someday."

Arthur froze, eyes widening. Alfred cast him a worried glance, hand rising to clasp onto the shorter man's shoulder, but he was brushed aside when Arthur flew down the stairs. Niahm flinched when Arthur grasped her hand, pulling it to his face despite Ralph's protests. His gaze locked onto the singular gold band encasing her finger.

Looking back up, Arthur gazed between the two. Ralph scowled at him, arms crossing over his chest. "If you say one thing about that blasted name of yo-" he was swiftly cut off by Arthur waving his hand eccentrically at him and looking back to Niahm's hand. The couple exchanged a glance before Ralph looked back up to Alfred; the American shrugged in response.

A sigh escaped his lips before Arthur could stop himself. Dropping Niahm's hand in favor for embracing her, he stood with a soft melancholic smile as he hugged the startled woman. "Thank god. You know how to frighten people." Pulling away from her and taking her face in his hands, he continued to smile at her. "Give me a warning next time, you fool!"

Startled, Niahm struggled to keep her balance in the awkward position. Her hands flailed out to her sides as she quickly looked from Arthur, to Ralph, then finally to Alfred. "Wh-what have you done to him!" she cried. "I grow up with him and I'm a pariah, but I come home a scandal and I'm suddenly the dear sister?" Niahm wrapped her arms around Arthur, pulling him back to her bosom protectively with a scowl at the American. "Have you been poisoning him? What form of witchcraft is this?"

"For the…" grumbling, Arthur struggled free from his step-sister's hold, scowling at her. "Come inside already and stop insulting the guests." He turned from her, marching as best he could back into the mansion. Niahm burst into laughter the minute he crossed the threshold.

"There's my brother." Sweeping a few wild curls behind her head, she turned to Ralph and extended her hand. He wrapped it in his arm and began leading the young woman up the steps. There she paused, glancing sideways to Alfred who had remained otherwise silent during the affair. "I see you didn't take my advice, Mr. Jones?"

Shrugging, Alfred folded his arms. "With you gone, who else was going to annoy him?" He chuckled as Niahm cast him a warning glance before walking into the house with husband in tow. Alfred then paused, slowly dropping his arms as realization dawned on him. "Wait! Do I still get to come to the celebration? Niahm? ….Niahm!"

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_Oh my goodness I am SO sorry I took so long in updating this! School work caught me completely off guard and then I managed to catch the dreaded cold running around New York at the moment! Aurgh! So sorry! So to attempt to make up for here, here's a chapter that's relatively uplifting for once! =D Hopefully more updates later this week, cross your fingers with me!_

_Random Historic Notes:_

_- **Gretna Green**: In 1753, a marriage law was passed in England that made it extremely difficult for men to marry down and women of rank to marry outside their class. This lead to many couples running away to Scotland to elope, more specifically to Gretna Green. The ceremonies were usually performed by one of the village blacksmiths who in those days were the heart of the community and held in suitable regard._

_On a side note: Many of Jane Austen's novels like Pride and Prejudice have a couple running away to Gretna Green to elope =3_


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